The Bourne Paradox
by Sarah Rochester
Summary: Following the events of Ultimatum, Jason Bourne is given the chance to bring down Blackbriar for good and gain back a life he doesn't remember, but at what price?
1. Prologue

**The Bourne Paradox**  
By Sarah Rochester

**Disclaimer:**Not mine.

**Prologue**  
_New York City_

Ten stories; it was a long way to fall.

The velocity of his fall made hitting the black waters of the East River feel like slamming into concrete. His body froze, stunned by the impact, and he floated under the surface, moving with the current. The cold began to bite his extremities, shocking him into action.

As Jason Bourne began to thrash in the water, the pain from his fall made his body scream and protest against the slightest movement. Every bone was grinding on top of the other. New bruises began to blossom over his already maimed body.

He opened his eyes, ignoring the sting of the water, to attempt to find his way to the surface of the leaden river and its unpredictable current. His lungs began to crave oxygen. Jason saw lights dancing across the surface of the water and began to make his way upward. In the darkness, Jason repeated Pamela Landy's monotone words in his head.

_Your name is David Webb_, Pamela Landy's voice echoed in the darkness. _You were born in Nixa, Missouri._

His fingers grazed the crisp air of New York City. Jason's head broke through the surface and, at last, he inhaled deeply – choking on the dank air that entered his lungs. His head slipped under and the murky water made its way down his throat. Jason jettisoned back to the surface and gulped more air while keeping control of his body.

_You are not David Webb…you are Jason Bourne, whispered an unfamiliar voice in his head. _

The water he had ingested rose up into his throat. Jason swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut as the wave of nausea passed. He had to move as fast as he could; the temperature of the water would soon affect his body and he had to stay alive long enough to make it to dry land for his next move.

_David Webb is dead…you killed him._

Shivering and teeth chattering, Jason pulled his body through the water, swimming as fast as he could. It was too dark for anyone to spot him; his instincts knew it. He would blend in with the darkness around him like he had done everywhere else.

In front of him was the New York City skyline, lights twinkling against the dark sky. He could hear cars and public transportation over the roar of the water, zooming past him.

His hand touched the uneven surface of rock. Jason looked up to see a low, stone wall in front of him. Breathing heavily, he grabbed it with frozen fingertips and placed a foot on a submerged rock. One of his hands slipped, the stone grazing his fingertips. Grunting, Jason clawed at the slick surface and misplaced his foot on an algae covered stone. He lost his grip and fell back into the water, his hands scraping against it. A moment later, Jason bobbed back up to the surface. He cast his eyes around, searching for another means of escape.

The pain of where the rock had dug into his fingers was starting to dull. The cold was beginning to sink into his bone, leaving a dull pain in its wake. Jason knew that he needed to get onto dry land soon and find a warm place to hide out for the time being.

Jason's foot caught on dirt and he slipped under. He resurfaced, spluttering and gasping. Planting another foot in the dirt, Jason pulled himself shakily to solid ground. The smell of sewage and wetness filled his nostrils as he crawled in the shallow water.

Staggering to his feet, Jason stubbornly ignored the excruciating pain that raged in his body. His legs gave out after a few steps. He let out a groan as his knees buckled and he fell on all fours in the shallows of the water. Trembling, the asset forced his body to crawl to the grass in front of him.

As his fingers touched the damp grass, Jason gagged on the water he had swallowed again as it rose up violently and he vomited into the grass. The smell of dirty water and his own bile assaulted his nostrils as Jason spit out the last of the bitterness in his mouth.

Adrenaline kicked in. Jason rose to his feet and began to survey his surroundings. The roadway wasn't busy at that late hour and only a few blocks away were warehouses, shut down for the night. Quickly, Jason walked towards the road, ignoring the pain and cold.

The sounds of New York City faded away. He could only hear his heart thumping in his chest and the sound of his own feet against the ground with each step. The pain of his body subsided, all of it merging to his lower back.

Jason took another step. A wave of light-headedness overcame him as he struggled to stay on his feet. He blinked and breathed deeply before pushing onward. He let out a groan as his knees buckled, sending him straggling a few feet and then collapsed to his hands and knees with a strangled cry.

Sucking in a breath, he felt pain exploding from his back. _Shit_, he thought.

It was then that he heard a sedan's wheels crunching on loose pavement followed by those of a larger vehicle. Car doors open and shut as the sound of shoes slapped on the pavement and voices. Amongst them, there must have been a woman for Jason could hear the click of her designer high heels amongst the CIA standard issue oxfords.

The footsteps came closer and over the sound he heard her voice saying his name.

"Jason," Pamela said as she came closer to him.

He looked up, trying to focus his eyes to see in front of him.

He was surrounded by a circle of cars. Agents swarmed around him, their hands on their weapons. There were at least ten of them – probably the only ten that Landy trusted – and all of them were men with some sort of military background. If he had to, Jason would take them all on in order to escape.

The sound of more engines being turned off and doors opening made the pit of his stomach churn.

"I'm not going back. Not to them…not after what they did…" His voice trailed off into the night. He caught himself as his body started to stumble forward. _No, stay alert,_ said the voice inside his head. _You need to keep moving, solider._

"You're not going back to them," said Pamela Landy. "We're here to help you."

Jason opened his eyes to see Pamela crouching in front of him, looking concerned. "I have to keep running," he panted. "They'll find me."

"We want to help you, Jason. The CIA wants my team to take you to a safe location until the heat dies down. We can provide you with new identification and the means to leave the country," Pamela explained in a calm voice. "But only if you trust us."

Jason studied her face. She had no reason to lie to him. In fact, she owed him for giving her the means to expose Operation Treadstone.

"Please Jason…you're in no shape to go off on your own," she pleaded. "Let me help you…please."

He would have responded, but an agonized groan caught in his throat. Jason put his fingers on his lower back and felt the slickness of blood through the material of his shirt. The bullet, which he was sure had missed him, was embedded in his flesh.

"Jason?" said Pamela, her voice starting to fill with concern. "Jason, are you all right?"

He looked up at her and for a moment, tried to comprehend the voices that were starting to entangle themselves together. Jason opened his mouth to reply, but the words never made it past his lips. He fell to his side, feeling the air in his lungs escape through his mouth as the pain overwhelmed him. The asset began to struggle to breathe, gasping to swallow air.

"I need a medic," he heard Landy yell as panic filled her voice. She removed his fingers from his lower back and saw the blood. "Jesus. Hurry!" There were people running towards them, swarming around Jason and Landy like flies. Panic boiled inside of him as he attempted to move, only to collapse into Pamela's arms.

"Jason, just hold on," Landy said into his wet hair as her arms wrapped around his shoulders. "You're going to be all right."

He craned his head up to look at her face, darkness ebbing at his vision. He felt himself slipping into the abyss that had been threatening to claim him. His body went slack, his limbs numb. Jason's head fell against Pamela's shoulder as she uttered, "Help is on the way."

Then he was gone.

* * *

_Salamanca, Spain_

Nicky Parson's fingers flipped a page as she studied the people in the grand arcaded square out of the corner of her eye; she sat in the Plaza Mayor, sipping hot chocolate while pretending to read a book. The beverage, which was comparable to warmed up chocolate syrup served with a cookie, was beginning to go cold.

The sea of people coming and going, some returning home to enjoy siesta and some doing last minute shopping, were too busy to notice her. In fact, Nicky would have been surprised if they noticed her at all. She blended into the background so well. She was there, she was present, but then again, she wasn't. She smiled to herself, knowing he would be proud.

Jason was alive; according to the news reports there was no trace of a body. He had evaded the police and the C.I.A., just like she knew he would, and it would only be a matter of time before he would come for her.

A familiar ache began to gnaw at her stomach. _He would come, wouldn't he?_While Jason had not remembered their time together, he must have felt something.

Nicky dunked the cookie into her cup and let out a groan when it snapped. As the crowd of people carried on with their business, Nicky sat alone, digging through lukewarm hot chocolate for parts of a cookie that she had no real plans to eat.

In the last two weeks she had been so caught up with running and with Jason that she had lost her appetite. She ate enough to keep alert and healthy, but only because she knew she couldn't afford to get sick. She promised herself to return to normal once she found a place that was secure enough for her to settle down.

Having been in Salamanca for a week (the longest she had been anywhere), she felt safe; or at least the safest she felt in a while.

With the last piece out, she licked her sticky finger tips. The clock tower chimed, echoing across the plaza and indicating that it was siesta. Nicky placed a few Euros on the table and stood up to gather her things. As she placed her book top of her bag, someone knocked into her.

"Lo siento," Nicky apologized. She looked up to see a young woman, about her age – perhaps younger. Her dark hair was in a low bun and she wore clothing that was unremarkable, but there was something in her eyes that Nicky had seen before.

The young woman knelt down to pick up Nicky's book, which had fallen onto the cobblestones, and placed it on the table with a gloved hand. Nicky watched the young woman studying her surroundings for a few short moments and felt her blood run cold.

She had seen many assets do the same thing - what they were taught to do. Assess the situation and the surroundings, and then proceed. Nicky could bet that the woman knew the type of stitch of her bag and the size of her shoes if she dared to ask.

Nicky put her hand on her book and looked into the woman's eyes. She gulped as the woman smiled and walked away.

Nicky began to grab her things, forgetting to wipe down the table for fingerprints. Breathing hard, she began to rush through the crowd, towards the train station. She bumped into a group of college students, who were chatting loudly in Spanish. Mumbling sorry under her breath, Nicky ran in the crowd, making sure to keep herself covered. While a few of the side streets would get her to the train station in less time, they did not have many people on them. She would be a clear shot for the asset.

"Oh god," she whispered as the panic rose to her throat as she pushed through the crowd. Ignoring the stares coming her way, Nicky ran to the end of the street and into the internet café she had used a few hours before. She ran up the steps and threw open the glass doors, much to the annoyance of the manager.

Shaking uncontrollably and on the verge of crying, Nicky grabbed a postcard from the rack on the front counter. "Stamp," she practically shrieked. "I need postage!"

"Franqueo?" asked the manager. He reached under the desk and lifted up a stamp.

She nodded. "Yes, yes…" Nicky replied, her voice frantic. She looked around, looking for something shining from between roof tops or that woman walking up the street. She grabbed a pen and wrote down the only address she could think off.

The door opened. Just two students.

Nicky jerked, sending a cup of pens on the floor. She wrote on the postcard before grabbing the stamp and slamming money onto the counter. Nicky took off, ignoring the manager's shouts. She scanned the area for a mailbox. Across the street, next to a park bench, she saw one. Nicky ran into the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a taxi. The driver hung out the window and yelled at her as Nicky's foot hit the sidewalk. She opened the lid and slipped the postcard inside.

Nicky set off down the Calle de Vazquez Coronado towards the train station. She maneuvered through the crowds of people, trying to speed up her pace. Nicky began to force her way through, knocking men and women to the side with her shoulder, not caring if she angered anyone.

Every few seconds, she looked up into the crowd to see if the asset was following her.

_Maybe I'm overreacting_, thought Nicky as she crossed the street with a group of people. Treadstone and Blackbriar never had any female assets. They – being Ward Abbott and Dr. Hirsch – felt that they could not handle the stress of the missions. While the higher officials were prone to keep secrets, Nicky was fairly certain that this was not one of them

The way that the woman moved - the way it mimicked the other operatives: the fluid movements, the calculations, and the control over every aspect of her body. And the way she looked at Nicky…it was like Jason was standing right there.

As Nicky was about to take another step, she saw the face of the woman at the street corner. Nicky let out a gasp and ran off in the other direction, towards Calle de Azafranal.

The woman took off after her. Nicky saw as the asset followed, weaving in and out of the crowd with ease. Nicky made a sharp turn a one-way street in another attempt to lose the asset.

The asset turned down an alleyway that some of the shops used to store their trash bins. As she turned the corner, she took her fun out of her jacket pocket and pulled backed the action to the chamber. The gun clicked, ready to shoot her assignment as soon as she was visible again.

Rather than follow, the asset turned before the street, down an alleyway that some of the shops used for the trash.

Meanwhile, Nicky was running on the opposite street, trying to avoid children on their way home from school. She scraped her wrist up a brick wall while turning a corner. Clutching her wrist, Nicky looked behind her to see that the asset was gone. Nicky, breathing heavily and with beads of sweat forming on her temples stopped running.

She looked up the other side of the street and saw the asset walking towards her with a gun in hand. Nicky heard a door opening from the apartment building next to her. Thinking quickly, she ducked into the lobby as the asset began to run towards her.

Nicky pushed the man who had opened the door out of the way and pulled it shut by the handle. She fled to the other door behind her and began to race up the stairs of the apartment building. As she rounded each floor, she listened for the door opening and the sound of frantic footsteps. Nicky tripped over her feet and landed on the floor.

For a moment, she heard her breathing and her heart beating against her chest. In one of the apartments, someone was watching a Spanish soap opera. Nicky picked herself up and looked over the banister.

Nothing. Not a foot step, not a sound.

Nicky looked up and saw in black letters, acceso de la azotea, on a door.

A door opened downstairs, followed by two people yelling at each other in Spanish.

Nicky rushed to the door and threw it open. A gust of cool air hit her face and the sound of traffic in Salamanca filled her ears. Nicky slammed the door shut and ran across the roof to the edge to see if she could jump onto the next rooftop. As she neared the edge, she heard a click.

Nicky froze mid-step. She looked behind her and let out a scream as a gunshot pierced the air.

A man, carrying garbage bags outside from his store, stopped in his tracks as he heard a woman screaming, followed by a loud popping sound. He looked up in time to see a body fall from the top of an apartment building from across the street. He dropped the bags in shock as the body landed on the street. Trying to catch his breath, the man backed into his shop, yelling a variety of words as he grabbed the telephone to call the policía.

The asset looked over the edge of the building, to see the broken body of Nicky Parsons lying in the street. She unchambered the second round out of her gun and shoved it back into her jacket as she walked away from the edge of the roof. Making her way to the fire escape she had found, the asset reached into her jacket pocket and took out a cell phone. She pressed send as she threw her leg over the side of the building.

"She's been taken care of," she said before hanging up.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

"How is he?" asked Pamela Landy as she sipped coffee out of a Styrofoam cup. She turned to a gentleman with graying hair and well-defined nose in his mid-fifties. He was Dr. Nathan Webster, the Agency's private physician, who stood at her side. She had known him for ten years and he was one of the few members of the agency that she trusted completely.

He shrugged and took off his glasses to clean them off on his lab coat. "The fever is down and his vitals are improving," Dr. Webster replied. He looked up, seeing the expression that Pamela made when she wanted answers. "Pam, he had massive internal injuries and while we were able to repair them, he is lucky to be alive. Is the pneumonia ideal? No, however he is healing. We'll just have to wait and see."

"That's not an ideal answer," Pamela said as she brought her coffee cup to her lips. Deep in thought, she sipped on the remnants and swallowed.

Jason had been unconscious during the ride to the Agency facility, oblivious of the motorcade behind him as he lay in the back of an ambulance.

He had, however, woken up while a resident was injecting antibiotics into his IV. In the blink of an eye, Bourne had broken the poor kid's arm and was about to smash his face in when five agents had pinned him to the ground. It was then that Dr. Webster had been able to stick a syringe of Pentobarbital into Jason Bourne's bicep.

After that incident, paired with the media frenzy that surrounded the Blackbriar scandal, had reached a fevered pitch, it was decided that would be safer for Jason's (and everyone else's for that matter) well-being if medical personnel attended to him with an armed guard with the room.

Landy had decided early on that she could not afford for knowledge of Jason Bourne alive to leak, especially with Kramer, Hirsch, and Vosen all under investigation. She still hadn't uncovered who they held in their pockets and the situation would only result in more damage control and possibly more deaths.

The latter more so, especially after the positive identification of Nicky Parsons's body in Spain the previous week. Pamela had known the young woman for a few years before her transfer to Paris and had thought highly of her. Everyone had been saddened to hear of her death.

Pamela sipped her coffee again as she stared into the observation window of Jason's hospital room.

_This is Jason Bourne. You are nine hours behind the toughest target you have ever tracked_, echoed her voice.

And there he was, completely defenseless.

The elusive agent that had the CIA in frenzy was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to various machines and drips. From the observation window, she could see the IV lines that pumped various medications into his veins to keep any possible infections at bay and the nasal cannula that helped him breathe. During the surgery to extract the bullet and repair the damage left in its wake, the surgical team had to perform a tracheal intubation when Jason practically died on the operating table.

They had taken out the ventilator after his surgery when Bourne's vitals had begun to improve steadily. He had regained consciousness and seemed as alert as he could be, given the amount of shock that his body had experienced.

For a few short days, it seemed that Jason was out of woods and going to recover without further complication.

Then fever had developed, followed by the pneumonia.

It seemed like only a matter hours since Pamela had left the hospital when she had gotten the call that Jason had developed a fever. By the time she had arrived back at the hospital, he was in respiratory distress. She waited in the hallway, watching nurses rushing in and out of the asset's room, clutching her coat as tightly as she could. When Nathan came out of the room and nodded, indicating that Jason would be all right, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Landy had brought her work to the hospital, quietly making a makeshift office for herself in the corner of Jason's hospital room. She was only paces from his bedside in case if he needed anything.

The majority of the time, Jason rested, only vaguely aware of his surroundings. Dr. Webster and the nurses were able to coax simple words from him as they checked his vitals. To Pamela, it seemed that after whatever torments that his body had endured, it decided to give into complete and utter exhaustion.

Lately she noticed the sharpness returning to his eyes when he was awake. He knew that she was there and he was safe, but he couldn't figure out why.

_He is really good at staying alive, and trying to kill him and failing... just pisses him off. _

"Ironic," mumbled Pamela as her finger tapped the cup methodically.

"What's ironic?" asked Dr. Webster.

Pamela looked at him, confused for a moment. She realized she had spoken aloud and shook her head as if to say 'forget it.' She shifted her weight to one side of her body, deep in thought.

"His latest read-out was satisfactory," Dr. Webster said dryly as he made notations on his clipboard. "And he's been more alert when my staff has come to check on him. I think he'll be up to talking in a few days."

Pamela shook her head. "The problem is he may not want to talk."

She heard Dr. Webster clear his throat. "Getting grown men to spill their deepest, darkest secrets has never been a problem for you, Pam," said Dr. Webster, amused. "I'm sure you'll find a way."

Pamela nodded and tossed her empty coffee cup into a nearby trash bin and said, "God, I hope so."

* * *

Tom Cronin was standing over a table covered with papers. Or at least, he was fairly certain that were was a table under the mountain of files. He rolled his neck and heard the cartilage in his neck crack.

The room was buzzing with specialists, agents, and strategists, trying to find information on the shooter in Salamanca. Of course, the Spanish policía had no idea and were still questioning possible witnesses.

He knew that there weren't going to be any witnesses. It was the M.O. of all of the assets.

"Are we sure that the Barcelona operative wasn't replaced?" asked Cronin for the hundredth time.

An agent whose name had slipped his mind nodded, her blonde bob bouncing. "Instead of a replacement in Barcelona, the position was given to an operative in Sevilla."

"But he never left the city," reminded Cronin. "Where else did they station Blackbriar operatives?"

Another agent piped up, "The second closest had Bourne's post in Paris. But his whereabouts are accounted for. He checked in with Parson's replacement two minutes before the shooting."

"From?"

"A landline in Paris from an apartment on Filles du Calvaire," he responded.

Cronin closed his eyes. "Well that's useful," he hissed sarcastically under his breath. He looked up at the female agent. "What about that Paz character?"

"Still unaccounted for," she said.

Cronin let out a groan. "Does the Spanish policía have any information that would be useful to us?"

"None so far," said another agent.

_Great_, thought Cronin.

"Of course not," he mumbled. "I want something we can work with, people. Something, anything. Find records of past and current assets. I want to know every place they have been in the last ten years, especially if it was remotely close to Salamanca! They killed one of our own and there are repercussions. And I want someone to get a hold of the Madrid office! I want to speak to whoever is in charge over there!"

He heard a tapping on the glass door. Cronin looked up and saw Pamela, who motioned him outside with a nod of her head. Without excusing himself, he walked outside. "Any news on Bourne?" he asked as soon as the door shut.

"Doing better with each passing hour," she replied.

"That's better than nothing, I guess," said Cronin.

Pamela looked at him. "Do you have any news?"

"As we expected, no information from Spain and all of the operatives were accounted for. Except for one – Paz Longeria. No one was remotely near Salamanca," said Cronin.

"Perhaps they aren't on the grid," suggested Pamela.

"It's a possibility," said Cronin. He rubbed his shoulder. "I don't see why though…unless we're dealing with a figment of Hirsch's imagination…"

Pamela shook her head. "God, I hope not. Has anyone gotten him to talk?"

"He's not talking. Our team in New York was able to get a search warrant, but so far we haven't found a damn thing." He looked at Pamela and reassured, "But it doesn't mean we won't."

Pamela let out a breath. "I hope so, Tom."

"What about Bourne?" asked Cronin. "When does Nathan think we can talk to him?"

Pamela shrugged. "Soon, but I'm afraid that he won't want to talk."

"I'm sure he'll talk to you," replied Cronin. He saw the skeptical look on Pamela's face and shrugged. "He seems to trust you."

Pamela let out a laugh. "Well, let's see if that still stands," she said, trying hard not to sound worried.

The other concern was if he would remember. There was no doubt in Pamela's mind that his latest scrape was traumatic to his system and there was the possibility, that like before, he wouldn't be able to remember. He may retain his training, but Bourne's mind could become a clean slate once again. Pamela didn't want to think about that possibility, but it could happen.

"I think you worry too much," mumbled Cronin.

Pamela shrugged. "Someone needs to. It might as well be me," she replied. "Between the two of us, I'm hoping that Bourne will want to get right down to business."

"Are you really going to do what I think you're going to do?" Cronin asked incredulously, hoping the answer was no.

Pamela nodded, sure of the decision she had made in the sedan when they traveling behind the ambulance that carried Bourne to the facility. "Offer Jason Bourne a job with the CIA? Of course."

* * *

_Lisbon, Portugal_

She walked down Rua Augusta, under the triumphal arch, onto the Praça Do Comerico. Her handler told her to meet him here rather than at the Belém Tower, so there she stood in the center of the praça. To the outside world, she looked like a young woman waiting to meet her friends for coffee and a day of shopping.

Under her coat, however, was the same gun she had used a week earlier in Salamanca. Looks can be deceiving, but that was the point, wasn't it?

On the train back to Lisbon, she had wondered what the American had done to deserve to be killed. The assignments were usually just a manila envelope filled with the bare essentials: a name, a picture, last known whereabouts; nothing more.

From the information given, she had not been an asset whose mission had gone awry. She was supposed to be Desh's kill in Tangiers, but another asset had killed him. From her handler's post in Spain, she had heard whispers about the elusive asset who had been a thorn in everyone's side. He was the one who killed Desh and saved the woman's life.

Except, now Desh was dead.

Her handler had been especially forceful about the American girl. He had told her times, locations, and had given her photos.

_This must be taken care of_, echoed her handler's voice. _Time is of the utmost importance._

Out of the corner her eye, she saw her handler walking towards her in the crowd. He looked happy with her.

"Cumprimentos, tarde boa," he said as he kissed both of her cheeks in greeting.

"Tarde boa," she replied. "Como é você?"

He shook his head. "My Portuguese has never been that good."

"English then?" she responded.

He inhaled and nodded. "I suppose so. Tourists are commonplace in this city, are they not?"

She shrugged.

"Let us walk," he said as he began to move. For a moment, they were silent, only the crowds of people and the sound of heels on stone between them. "You did very well in Salamanca," he said in a low voice as he guided her through the crowds. "The policía have no leads."

"What about the CIA?" she asked as they walked.

"What about them?"

She stopped, her brow arching knowingly, and didn't say a word.

He sighed. "I have never lied to you before…"

"I don't suggest that you start," she said matter-of-factly. "If you want this working relationship to continue being beneficial for both of us."

"They suspect that it was a planned hit," he replied. "They are missing all of the important pieces – that being you." He placed his hands on her shoulders and smiled charmingly. "Mia, look, I am very happy with the outcome of your assignment and you performed exceedingly well. However, I need you to lay low for a while. Until this situation calms down and people stop asking questions. You must understand that with the arrests of some careless personnel, Blackbriar is in a precarious state of affairs."

The female operative looked at the water, watching the sun's reflection on the waves. "I understand."

"Good," her handler replied. "Good. This will give you a much needed time off. Stay in Lisbon, go shopping or meet your friends for coffee…"

"I wasn't allowed to develop personal attachments," she whispered under her breath.

He was ignoring her, of course. "Maybe redecorate your flat. Regardless, I will contact you when I need you or if any new information comes through."

"You mean information on Jason Bourne," she said.

He frowned. "Mia, I have told you time and time again. Jason Bourne is dead and none of your concern." He looked at the Rolex on his wrist and looked up at her. "I need to catch a plane back to Madrid. We'll be in touch."

Without another word, she watched her handler walk away and disappear into the crowd. She stood at the edge of the praça, watching the scenery and listening to the hum of Lisbon. With a sigh, she began to walk about to her flat, located in Centro Histórico Baixa. During the ten minute walk, she saw tourists enjoying coffee, shopping for gifts, and taking pictures - envious of the normalcy that they had.

She walked pass a group of college students. They stared at her, making comments in French, thinking she couldn't understand them.

_I wonder where she got those boots!_

_Should I ask for her number? _

But she did understand, she was a linguist, like her predecessors. And like the assets before her, she was skilled in hand-to-hand combat and weaponry.

Taking out her keys, she walked up the stairs to her flat, rather than using the elevator. Maybe later, she decided as she climbed the stairs, she would go shopping and perhaps, have an early dinner.

As she stepped onto the third floor, a neighbor was coming out of their flat. It was the older woman, Mrs. Cruz. She was a grandmother type with snow-white hair under a fashionable cap. Whenever she came out of her flat, Mrs. Cruz always said hello even though Mia was less than willing to engage in conversation.

"Hello and how are we today," Mrs. Cruz asked in Portuguese.

Mia shrugged as she fiddled with the set of keys in her hand.

"I'm doing well. Just off to meet my husband for siesta," she replied as she looked at the lady's watch on her wrist.

Mia put the key into the lock of her front door and turned it. As she opened her door, she replied, "You should go then." Without waiting for the older woman's response, Mia shut the door to her flat and locked it.

The flat was quiet, almost peaceful. She took her gun out of her jacket and unloaded it. As she locked the barrel, she looked up and saw the reflection of a young woman with dark brown hair that fell over her shoulders and melancholy hazel eyes. Skin still fair, nose that echoed her father's, and slightly chapped lips.

There she was, Mia Campos. Some days she could hardly recognize herself and other days, she knew that face.

It was the reason why the project was renamed Blackbriar.

**Author's Note:**Who Mia resembled was asked about quite a bit in the original story. When I wrote her (this time around), I pictured either Dianna Agron or Rachael McAdams with dark hair. Neither of them fit the type and that's how I pictured the character.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

She wasn't always like this.

Once upon a time, she was a college student at Georgetown. She studied at the Faculty of Languages & Linguistics and on weekends, she would head over to the Philadelphia Cheesesteak Factory with friends.

Her luck changed when she was offered a chance to study at the Universidade de Coimbra during her last year as an undergraduate. She would be at the Faculty of Letters, where she would write her thesis and earn a bachelor's degree.

She loved Portugal from the moment she got off the plane. It was so different from America and history crept between the walls of her classrooms.

She would take her long weekends to different cities, to explore. Porto, Barcelona, Sevilla, Paris; it was all within easy access, something she didn't have back in the States.

Sometimes she would take her roommate, a French girl from Marseilles, or she would go by herself. On those visits, she would walk the streets with a guide and her backpack, staying in different hostels and meeting new people.

One day, Mia was walking home from a mid-day class when she was stopped by the man who would be her handler. He was tall, but not overbearing, with blue eyes and white hair. He had introduced himself as Ward Abbott. As she walked, he told her that the people he worked for were interested in her talent in linguistics.

She asked for ID and he showed Mia his CIA badge, then offered to buy her a cup of coffee…to chat.

They sat in a café for the next couple of hours.

"We need people like you," he said with a reassuring smile.

Mia sipped her coffee. "I'm sure you have plenty of people who can do the same thing as me, but better."

"That is not necessarily true," Abbott replied as he stirred his tea with a spoon. "The agency has their team of people, but we are always looking for new talent and places to expand to."

Mia raised a brow. "Such as?"

"How do you like Portugal?" asked Abbott as he leaned over the table, closer to her.

Mia smiled as she held her coffee cup. "I love it," she said before taking another drink. She looked at Abbott, seeing his smile go to his eyes.

"Are there any cities that you particularly enjoy?"

She nodded as she set down the coffee cup. "Lisbon."

"I believe we need someone for our Lisbon office," said Abbott. "How long until you matriculate?"

"This is my final semester," she replied with a proud smile.

Abbott smiled back. "Good, this is good. I can get you before someone else sweeps you away from me. But what will your parents think about you moving to another country?"

Mia's smile had disappeared and she nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. "My parents are gone," she whispered as her eyes went down to stare her skirt. She felt a hand touch her own and squeeze it gently. Mia looked up and saw Abbott with a comforting smile on his face and his hand over hers.

Looking back, she must have been the perfect target. No family to miss her or demand a body when they blew up her apartment and took her to their "training facility" in New York City (something she found out much later).

Below the busy streets, she was trained to kill, to blend in. The girl she used to be was gone by the time that Dr. Hirsch was done with her. She was his star pupil, he told her whenever he left the room.

He was the one who rechristened her Mia Campos.

Abbott would visit, bringing her gifts, watching her from the observation room that they told her didn't exist.

She could feel him and everyone else. She knew when someone was too close or if something wasn't right. She was losing control and she wanted it back.

Mia had been putting a rifle together as an agent and Dr. Hirsch watched her from the corner of the room. Ten minutes before the weapon had been laid out on the table, she had heard Abbott's footsteps, firm and even, on the floor. They were followed by the rushed steps of his assistant, Danny Zorn.

He had done this to her. He had lied and now Mia was paying the price.

"Mia is something the matter?" asked Dr. Hirsch.

She had stopped putting together the other weapon and was staring at the mirror.

"Mia?" said Dr. Hirsch.

She looked over her shoulder and shook her head before turning back to the table. In silence, she worked before the mirror took her attention.

Dr. Hirsch must have noticed her, because the agent was sent to jar her out of a trance. Mia felt him raise his hand to touch her shoulder and she reacted.

Mia flipped him over the table and sent him to the floor. She grabbed his neck and jerked it up in an awkward angle. Under her fingertips, she felt his neck snap and his pulse come to a sputtering halt. She let his corpse drop onto the floor with a thud. In her hands, was the man's gun that she had stealthily taken out of the hoister. She spun around, firing three bullets into the two-way mirror.

The glass fell away, revealing Abbott and Zorn - who had ducked and looked like he was about to shit himself. Mia stared only at Abbott.

Behind her, she heard Dr. Hirsch chuckling as he walked to the door, where the intercom was. "Ward, I think our girl is ready."

She watched Abbott smile and nod before he walked out of the room, with Zorn trailing behind him like a whipped puppy.

The dead agent was carted out of the room in a body bag, leaving only her and Dr. Hirsch. He brushed her stringy hair off her shoulder and took the gun out her hand in one movement.

"Mia," he said his tone slippery. "You are Blackbriar. You will be our ultimate weapon."

One month later, she was placed in the apartment in Lisbon, located in one of the city's more reputable areas. Mia had a bank account with a considerable balance, fancy clothes, and an arsenal of weapons hidden in the back of her wall-in closet. It was almost how Abbott promised her.

Two years later, Abbott was dead and she had a new handler.

With a deep breath, Mia snapped out back to reality and realized that the water in the pot was boiling over the stove. She swore as she grabbed the handle and placed the pot onto another stove coil. Mia opened the lid and saw the milky water, indicating that the spaghetti she had planned for dinner was ruined.

Mia grabbed for the phone and dialed the number for Telepizza.

She hadn't been sad over the suicide of Abbott. Mia had been sitting at a tourist spot when she received the first phone call from her new handler. It was clockwork - one would die and the other would swoop in like nothing happened. Like Abbott, he was older, though his light brown hair was not completely white. He had a beard and piercing eyes that had quickness to them.

His speech was slow and graceful and, unlike Abbott, this man told the truth, whether she wanted to hear it or not.

When they had met a week later, Mia had learned that he was under Neal Daniels. He told her that her status with the CIA was unknown. Not even the other agents knew about her, even though she could have any shred of information on them within a blink of an eye.

"Who am I replacing?" Mia asked as she sat on the couch, watching him as he looked out the window.

He chuckled. "You're smart, like Hirsch told me you were." He took off his glasses and began to wipe them. "We had an agent go rogue and then disappear off the grid. Abbott made the mistake of angering him and our mutual acquaintance found him in a quandary." He looked at Mia as he put his glasses back on. "You are well aware how that ended for him."

"Does this agent have a file?"

"He does, but you won't need it," said the handler.

Mia smirked and cocked her head, studying him. This man would not crumble under pressure, she decided. He would brave the storm and never put a gun to his head. "I doubt that. You always need information at some point."

"Senhorita?" said the voice of the kid at Telepizza, interrupting her thoughts. "Senhorita? Onde está você?"

Mia shook her head and ordered her pizza, just as a dull ache began to pulse in the back of her head.

The headaches; a constant reminder of who she was and who had made her that way.

She hung up the phone and got the money out of her wallet. She walked to the bathroom; she placed twenty Euros on the entry table. As she did so, Mia looked up to see her reflection in the mirror.

Sometimes she hated remembering.

* * *

"Pam?" asked Cronin from the doorway.

She looked up, eyes tired from reading. "Hmm?"

"We have Aaron Phillips on the line," he said. "Daniel's replacement."

"Replacement?" asked Pamela. "I thought the Madrid office was shut down," she said as she reached for her coffee cup.

Cronin shook his head. "They reassigned the office last week. Phillips was a float in Western Europe, based out of our Prague office."

Pamela nodded, weary of the new information that kept coming in each day. "Put him through," she said as she added sugar to the brown liquid. "Do you want to listen in?"

Cronin shrugged before leaning out the door to have the secretary patch the call through. He closed the door behind him. "Might as well," he grunted as he sat down on the couch.

Pamela pressed the speaker phone button and said, "Pamela Landy. I have my associate, Tom Cronin, on the line."

"Aaron Phillips," said a crisp voice. "I understand you needed to speak me about the situation that occurred in Salamanca."

"Yes, the victim was one of our own," replied Pamela. "Nicolette Parsons."

"I send my condolences," said Phillips. "It's always hard to lose a member of the team."

Pamela looked at Cronin. "I appreciate that."

"My agents have been working around the clock, as you probably know, and we've come up with some possible leads."

Pamela arched her brow as she looked at Cronin. "And?"

"There was a Treadstone operative, Manheim. He's out of Hamburg," said Phillip. "One moment…"

Pamela and Cronin heard him looking through papers.

"He uses a weapon that carries the same bullets as the ones used to murder Ms. Parsons." There was a pause. "And Paz Longoria is still unaccounted for."

"He hasn't shown up on the US grid, but we have other offices keeping an eye out," said Pamela. "Why do you think he had anything to do with it?"

Phillips sighed. "He might have been in the area and saw her. Ms. Parsons was assumed to be dead in Tangiers and he reacted like any other agent with his training. We flagged his passports and sent out notification to the policía, as well as customs around the country and major port cities in Spain."

Pamela rubbed her forehead. "Sounds like you have it covered," she breathed.

"I'll call you if anything develops. Tell me, have you found Jason Bourne's body?" asked Phillips.

Cronin coughed and watched Pamela as she made a face. "No."

"Do you think that maybe he is to blame?"

"There is always that possibility," answered Pamela, knowing better. "Hopefully, I will be able to tell you something more concrete as we continue our investigation."

"Yes, of course," said Phillips before hanging up.

Cronin threw his arm over the top of the couch and picked at the fabric. "Nice guy, right?"

"Nice enough," mumbled Pamela.

"I don't like him," said Cronin. He saw Pamela give him a skeptical look. "If you ask me."

Pamela smirked. "I didn't," she replied as she grabbed a file from the ever growing pile on her desk. As she began to flip through the contents, she looked up at Tom and cocked her head to the side. "What's bothering you?"

"There's something off about him," Cronin said.

Pamela shrugged. "He's one of the few directors from the Treadstone days. I'm sure it has everyone else on edge as well."

"Not just that…" Cronin lowered his voice and leaned over. "He didn't seem surprised to hear about Nicky."

"It's been over the news," Pamela replied.

Cronin nodded. "I understand that, but how Phillips did know she was a member of our team?"

Just as Landy began to ponder Cronin's question, her cell phone began to ring. "Landy," she said upon answering. She was silent for a moment. "Okay. I'll be right there." Landy hung up and grabbed her purse as she stood up. As she grabbed her coat, she looked at Cronin. "I have an emergency meeting with Oversight. They just arrested Vosen. We'll talk later."

* * *

_Liverpool, England_

He swore loudly as his pant leg was splashed with water.

Paz looked at the bicyclist and felt the need to pull out his gun, but he didn't. The Port of Liverpool was not a place he wanted to be arrested. Instead, he kept walking, his face down and partially concealed by a baseball cap.

From this foggy port city, he would decide on what to do next. He had made it out of New York City before the CIA could get a hold of him, using a passport he had gotten on his own. After several weeks of news coverage, Paz was unsure whether the Blackbriar handlers even existed anymore. With the arrests of Hirsch and Vosen, there was no answer to what lay ahead.

Jason Bourne was still alive. Paz knew perfectly well that his former target was well trained and could have survived a fall from a ten-story building. When Bourne had gone over the side of the building, he didn't wait around long enough to figure out if he had fired the shot.

Dead people don't vanish into thin air.

There is always something left behind.

As Paz walked, he thought about what he had been told about his target. Jason Bourne was the prize of the operation formerly known as Treadstone. He was hard to kill and because of that fact, the majority of the agents sent after him never came back. After he destroyed his targets, he would vanish into thin air.

Paz looked at a newspaper stand and saw cartons of cigarettes for sale. While he had tried to quit smoking for the sake of his job, he had decided on the boat that it was obsolete. Paz took out his wallet as he neared the stand; he saw the headline on one of the newspapers.

Startled, Paz picked up the paper and read it: _CIA Analyst Murdered Outside of Madrid – Victim Was Connected to Missing CIA Operative Jason Bourne_. Below the headline, there was a grainy picture of the girl stationed in Madrid. Her named had escaped him, but he remembered that she had disappeared with Bourne. Paz read that she had been killed in Salamanca. There were no witnesses to identify a possible suspect, but a man in an internet café said she had come in, acting strangely. As his eyes searched the description of her death, he knew that Blackbriar had targeted her.

"Are you going to pay for that?" asked the newsstand owner.

Paz looked up and shook his head. He set the paper down and walked away, much to the annoyance of the newsstand owner. He pushed his hands into his pockets as he walked. Since Bourne was alive, Paz figured he would try to come after him once hearing about his friend's death.

That fact alone was partially why Paz booked a bus ticket to London as fast as he could. He didn't want to wait around for Jason Bourne to pop up and come after him. After all, the man had survived multiple assassination attempts. He was seemingly invincible. In London, he would take the Chunnel to Paris and take another bus into Spain. There he would find out as much as he could about the assignment, in hopes of presenting something useful to Bourne…if they ever met again.

As Paz boarded the bus, he secretly hoped that they would.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

He would dream the strangest things. He was used to recalling pieces of his memory in his sleep and when he lived in Goa, he would write down what he remembered after he woke up. The dreams – memories, really – told a story and felt familiar in a way that he could never describe to anyone.

Jason had tried to articulate what he saw to Marie…more than once. She would seem puzzled by his broken sentences and long pauses. When he gave up, Marie touched his arm and said, "Don't worry because sooner or later, you remember something good."

Now things were different. Marie was gone and his mind was still fractured.

Jason would wake up for moments at a time and see the brushy eyebrows of his doctor, the freckles sprinkled over a nurse's nose, Landy's voice in the distance asking about his prognosis. It only lasted for a moment before the sweet abyss of darkness claimed him once more.

He was aware that his dreams were becoming more frequent and vivid. There were familiar sounds – sometimes a child laughing or the sound of birds. And as time went on, the images became clearer: the figure of a child running, a barn painted red, and a tractor sitting in a field.

Today, the details were clear and crisp. He was on a farm, a place that felt strangely familiar to Jason. In front of him was the child, whose laugh had haunted his dreams, running ahead of him with a kite in hand.

Jason began to follow him, trying to catch a glimpse of the boy's face.

The boy was laughing as he made his way through the field, an endless ocean of deep gold against a blue sky. In the distance, he saw a tree that clearly had no business in the middle of a field. Jason caught up to the child and tried to speak to him.

His voice was gone as if he didn't have one in the first place.

Jason swallowed hard and tried to speak again. Eventually, Jason stopped in the middle of the field and touched his hand to the hollow of his neck. The sound of him breathing, the vibration of his muscles against his neck, all of it was gone. He opened his mouth and let out a silent scream. Jason was muted, like he didn't exist.

Jason looked up, seeing the child's kite bobbing over the little boy. He chased him down the field, trying to get his attention in vain.

The child stepped on a twig, causing it to snap and echo across the field. Blackbirds flew out of the tree, circling in chaos, before returning.

Jason stopped running and watched the child skipping, unaware of the disturbance he had caused. He remembered seeing blackbirds before, a long time ago on a farm in the French countryside.

_Look at us. Look at what they make you give_, whispered the Professor's voice.

Jason turned around, expecting the man to be standing there himself, but found no one.

Suddenly, there was silence. The world seemed to pause as he stood in place until he heard a woman's voice.

_David._

Jason inhaled sharply as his eyes snapped open.

He found himself lying in a reclined hospital bed. His body, for lack of a better word, throbbed. His mind was muddled with sleep and medication. Blinking several times, Jason cleared his head and swallowed, feeling the dryness in his throat.

It was then he noticed Pamela Landy sitting in the room. She was working from a makeshift office: a hospital lounger and a tray covered with papers from a file, seemingly not noticing that he was awake.

Jason glanced at her, confused, before turning his attention to the monitors propped above his bed, the lines influx against the black screen. A machine beeped softly, displaying information that Jason was unfamiliar with. Next to it was an oxygen generator.

Jason touched his face, feeling the nasal cannula against his cheeks and under his nose, as well as two weeks' worth of facial hair. Funny how he hadn't noticed it before.

"You were good," she continued as she read through the file.

Jason turned back to her and said, flatly, "You want something. What is it?"

"We're not all like that," she scoffed. "The doctors are surprised you're still alive." Landy took out a pen and began writing.

Jason remained silent for a long time, trying to access his situation, when he heard Landy say, "You don't seem to fit the textbook model, David." He glanced at her, startled. "Why did you call me David?"

"That is your name," Landy replied. She looked up and set her pen down. "Don't you remember?"

He looked straight ahead, staring at the wall. "Not everything," he mumbled.

"You were flagged for us because when you entered you were recommended for the intelligence program, for the language school, and for counterinsurgency training. Each of those programs are very exclusive and to be recommended for any one of them is unusual, but to have some seventeen year old kid with no training recommended for all three was entirely unique. We started investigating you," Landy said. "We ordered a battery of physical and mental examinations. The results were startling, so we investigated your background."

Landy picked up a folder and opened it. While she glanced through it, grabbing the most important pieces of information, Jason caught the words _Webb, David R_in black ink. "You were born David Robert Webb. Your parents, Rebecca and James, were killed in a car accident when you were seventeen. No other family members. We liked that you didn't have any other ties. No one would miss you." Landy stopped reading, waiting for Jason's reaction.

He said nothing, something that he could see worried Landy.

"Your injuries required medical attention and we could not afford to take you to a civilian hospital. There are two guards posted at your door," Pamela said, "and an entire squadron down the hallway. You won't make it very far, especially dressed in a hospital gown."

Jason closed his eyes, trying to remember how he had gotten there. All he remembered was getting on dry land and lights. And her voice. "You did say that you were going to help me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I certainly did," Landy responded. "And I still will."

Jason glanced back at the hospital equipment. "Quite the array of machines you have here," Jason said. "Are all of these for me?" He looked up at Pamela, waiting for an answer.

"Yes," she responded. Pamela rose form her seat and walked over to the end of the hospital bed, hands clasped in front of her. "It's probably better if the doctor explains to you about what happened." She noticed that Jason had stopped looking at her. "Are you okay?"

He didn't look up. "I had a feeling that they would be dead."

"Your parents?" asked Landy, watching him nod his head slowly. "David, I could bring in a specialist. Someone for you to talk to…"

Jason looked up. "Don't," he demanded.

"Don't bring in the specialist," Landy asked. "Or call you David?"

Jason set his jaw and looked away. "Both."

Before an awkward silence could set in, Dr. Webster rapped on the doorframe. Landy acknowledged him with a nod as he came into the room.

"So it seems that our patient rejoins the world," the doctor said as he took the clipboard from the end of the bed. He looked at the read-outs from the medical equipment and gave an approving nod before turning to Jason. "I'm Doctor Nathan Webster and you have been a pain in my ass."

"Oh…" Jason replied as he looked to Pamela, confused. She gave nothing away. Typical. Jason glanced back at the doctor. "Sorry about that…"

"Don't worry about that now, young man," said the doctor as he took his stethoscope of his lab coat pocket. "Do you mind?" asked Dr. Webster, indicating the stethoscope.

Jason shook his head and allowed the doctor to examine him. He looked down as the stethoscope was placed on his back and he was asked to breathe. Jason coughed as he exhaled, making his ribs sting with pain. Another cough followed.

"The nasal cannula will need to stay in for a few more days," said the doctor to Pamela.

Jason looked up and saw her nodding. He turned to Dr. Webster who was looking at the machines next to the bed. "What happened?"

Dr. Webster looked at Jason as he folded his arms over his chest. "Well, what do you remember?"

A question with a question. Jason hated those, but he knew why the doctor was doing this. The last time he was found by a body of water, his memory had been wiped clean. Now the doctor and Pamela wanted to see if history would repeat itself. "I fell 10-stories from a building overlooking the East River and still managed to swim ashore," Jason replied through gritted teeth. "I remember you being there."

He closed his eyes, remembering lights and the sounds of voices. In the hazy memory, Pamela was next to him, telling him that he would be protected.

_Jason…we're here to help you_, echoed Pamela's voice, and the words not quite matching the movement of her mouth. Her face changed and for a moment, it was not Pamela Landy kneeling next to him…but a man. A man that he hadn't thought of in a long time.

Jason squeezed his eyes and let out a groan. He felt nauseous as the memory changed, his world lurching.

_Who are you! What are you doing to me? It was his voice. _

He was back on the ship in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea - the first place he ever remembered. The ship was still dingy, personal belongings of the crew scattered about. A tray with blood covered bullets was to his side. His body shaking from shock and exhaustion. Giancarlo was against the wall, his hands over his own, trying to keep Jason from choking him.

_I'm a friend...I'm your friend…_Giancarlo's said in broken English.

Jason let out another groan as a hand touched his arm, jerk him back to reality. His eyes snapped open to see Dr. Webster standing in front of him. "Don't…" threatened Jason.

Dr. Webster took his hand off Jason's arm slowly and backed away from the bed. The older man looked at Pamela.

"Jason, no one is going to hurt you," said Pamela, choosing her next words wisely.

She saw Jason look at her, his eyes glinting under the fluorescent lights. Perhaps he was frightened, confused even.

Jason's fingers twitched.

"Jason," Pamela said, her voice controlled. "Do you trust me?"

His nostrils flared for a moment. "Some of the time," he replied sharply.

"That works for me," she responded. "Nathan, leave us."

The older man gasped. "Pam-"

"Nathan, wait outside. Jason and I need to talk about a few things," she said, calmly.

Dr. Webster arched his brow. "Should I call-"

"No," she interrupted. "We'll be fine."

Jason watched Pamela, ignoring the hurried steps of Dr. Webster leaving the room. He raised a brow. "He's probably going to call for the cavalry," the asset said.

"You never know," replied Pamela with a shrug. "And you're hardly in the position to do anything to me."

He snorted. "You never know." He cocked his head to the side and smirked. "Adrenaline might kick in."

Pamela crossed her arms over her chest. "Even if it did, you wouldn't," she bluffed. "Now, that we're alone…"

"For the time being," added Jason.

Pamela began to pace the room. "Then we should start talking."

"About?"

"Who shot you, for starters," said Pamela.

"Vosen," answered Jason. "The other agent had already lowered his gun. I don't know what happened to him."

Pamela nodded. "Vosen is in police custody, as well as Hirsch. Paz Longoria is unaccounted for, in case you were wondering."

"Those papers," he started to say. He swallowed. "They helped."

"Yes," said Pamela. "Thank you."

Jason gave her a quick smile. "Glad to know that I'm not just some pain in the ass."

"Well, Jason, I would like to help you," Pamela replied. She stepped closer to the bed, making sure not to hover over the assassin.

Jason stared at her. "You do want something from me…"

"Something went wrong and we would like to find out what it was," said Pamela. She waited for Jason to respond. He was quiet. "I believe you deserve closure and despite the past issues that you've had with the CIA, I would like to make up for that." She saw the amused expression crossing over Jason's face. Pamela smirked, knowing that he was thinking about the trouble he had caused them. "We want you back."

Jason's expression giving away nothing as he continued to stare at her in silence.

"Think about it," replied Pamela. She watched Jason as he averted his eyes, mulling over what she had just offered to him. "I can offer you unlimited resources, resources that you haven't had access to."

"I have my ways…" she heard Jason whisper under his breath.

Pamela arched a brow. "Yes. In the past you have been very resourceful. I commend your tenacity, Mr. Bourne…however, your actions will be sanctioned and you will generously be compensated. The choice is yours."

Jason glanced up at her, his furrowed in a frown. "You're giving me a choice?"

Pamela was taken aback. "Why wouldn't I?" she asked.

Jason arched his brow, defying her statement. "Normally, I don't have a choice."

Now it was her turn to stare, which Landy did for a few moments, before saying "Well, now you do."

For a moment, he heard Marie's voice. _Yes, you do._God, he wished it was true and he would have given anything to tell her otherwise.

Landy must have seen the faraway expression settling into his features. She cleared her throat, bringing him back to attention. "We can talk about this later," she said quietly.

Jason didn't argue and only gave her a nod.

"I'll let Dr. Webster come back into examine you," Landy said. Sensing that the asset didn't want to be poked and prodded, she said, "I'll be sure he's quick."

With that said, Landy let Dr. Webster come back into the room. She watched as the doctor showed Jason the bullet wound that caused him to bleed internally. Landy kept herself from recoiling in horror when Jason's hospital gown was lowered to his waist.

On the pale, muscled skin was a variety of bruising. In fact, his whole abdomen was covered with yellow, purple, and deep red abrasions. White bandages covering stitches were patterned across his torso. He looked mangled, for lack of a better word.

Pamela knew when Jason was wheeled into surgery that he would have injuries – some caused by his fall into the East River, some prior. After what he had been through, it would have been a miracle if Jason was unscathed.

So much for miracles, Pamela thought as she closed her eyes, replaying the scene of Nathan coming out of the OR. He walked towards her, taking off his mask, looking exhausted.

"Well?" Pamela had asked as she rose from her seat. Next to her was Cronin, fast asleep in an awkward angle that would surely pain him in the morning. He shifted in his sleep and continued to snore softly.

Nathan put his hand at the small of Pamela's back and escorted her away from Cronin. Just as they were out of earshot, Nathan leaned against the wall and said, "It's not good."

"Elaborate."

The doors to the OR burst open and the surgical team wheeled a gurney out. Under blankets and various machines, including a ventilator, Pamela Landy saw what Nathan meant. Jason Bourne lay motionless.

Her hand went to her mouth, trying to think of the possibilities.

Nathan looked at her, his expression hard. "He went into cardiac arrest, but we were able to revive him. The bleeding was controlled and we repaired the damage. He's been started on a round of antibiotics to combat any infection from previous injuries. We also gave him a blood transfusion since he lost so much blood." Nathan took off the hair cover and rubbed his fingers through his graying hair. "Pam, you know I don't ask many questions, but who is he? I have never seen anything like him. He is nearly dying and he is able to put one of my residents in the hospital. It takes five of your men to hold him down while I sedate him. It's amazing, really."

"His name is…" Pamela's voice trailed off. _God, what do I call you now? What would you want to be called?_She swallowed. "His name on file is Jason Bourne. His given name is David Webb."

Nathan mulled over the name before realization hit him. "He's the rouge operative."

"Operation Blackbriar, formerly Treadstone." She looked at Nathan and said, "No one can know he's alive."

"You'll live."

Pamela shook her head. "Pardon?" she asked, coming out of her reverie.

Jason and Dr. Webster were looking at her.

"I was telling our young friend that he will live," said Dr. Webster, looking at Pamela from over the rims of his glasses. He turned to Jason as he helped him with his hospital gown. "If he takes the time to rest."

Pamela expected Jason to argue with the doctor, but instead, he asked a startling question.

"Did you find Nicky?"

Pamela held her breath; she had secretly hoped that this moment would never come. She nodded her head, her lips tight. She watched Jason studying her body language and in a few short moments, she saw in his eyes that he knew before the words came out of his mouth.

"She's dead, isn't she?" Jason looked down at his fingers that were toying with the edge of the blankets.

Pamela nodded. "She was murdered in Spain."

"It was another asset, wasn't it?" asked Jason.

Pamela folded her hands over her stomach. "We're not sure as of right now. All of the Blackbriar assets were accounted for during the timeline we figured out. The Madrid offices are assisting in the investigation." She paused. God, she could only wonder what he was feeling. First Marie, and now Nicky. Everything he touched died. "I can't imagine what you must be feeling…I know you tried…" Pamela paused mid-sentence. Dr. Webster and Pamela stared at each other, not knowing what to say.

Finally the asset spoke, his voice almost a whisper, "I should feel something, but I don't. I don't remember any feelings towards her." With that said, Jason rolled over to his side, indicating he wanted to be left alone.

**Author's Note:** Some of the dialogue is taken from the alternate ending of _The Bourne Supremacy._


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**  
_Madrid, Spain_

Paz tossed the keycard in his hand as he turned the corner in the stairwell of the Hotel Regina. The marble floors, the dark red carpet, and tidy rooms would provide him with a makeshift headquarters. Down the street, next to the Starbucks, there was an internet café and a place he could purchase a cell phone. Across the street was a diner and**,** if he felt like it**,** he could walk to El Prado to study the works of Goya, El Greco, and other Spanish artisans.

He opened the door that opened onto the fifth floor of the hotel. Paz shifted his bag on his shoulder and quickly found his room. The floor was quiet, though through the walls in the hallway he heard a few television sets.

With door locked, Paz tossed his bag onto the floor and took off his jacket. He would need to buy new clothes the next day, but luckily, he had seen a clothing store off the Calle de Alcalá, the street that the hotel was on. Paz turned down the blinds and turned on the television to the news. As he peeled off his clothing, he half-listened to the newscaster from BBC News talk. The news about Operation Blackbriar had gone into the way-side, which only meant that Bourne would surface again.

Paz walked into the bathroom, naked, and turned on the water to the shower. When the water was just right, he stepped in, let out a sigh as the spray of warm water hit his skin. His body ached, mostly from exhaustion and cramped spaces on trains and buses.

Paz rolled his neck, feeling the cartilage cracking to release the pressure. He opened his eyes and grabbed the hotel-supplied soap to wash away the grime covering his skin.

Since he had joined Blackbriar, his guard was always up. If the wind blew, the hairs on his neck stood. His gun was within reach at all times and there was never a moment that he wasn't ready for a fight.

If Paz had been carefree in a previous life, all traces of it were gone. Like Bourne, Paz had turned into a killing machine. He never showed emotion, except for his encounter with Bourne. He felt grateful that a man he hardly knew spared his life and he felt obligated to do the same.

When Bourne had gone over the side of the building as the gunshot rang through the air, Paz felt like he had let the other man down. He had left him to an unknown fate and ran away.

From information in a report Paz had read from his old handler's desk, Bourne had stayed in the Hotel Regina in Paris. It was only fitting that Paz do the same in Madrid. Bourne would know where Paz was. He would leave a sign, something only Bourne would understand. After three days, Paz would leave for Salamanca, leaving a package for Bourne under one of his aliases at the hotel. If all went according to plan, Bourne would meet him in Salamanca, where Paz could give him the information he needed.

Then Paz would disappear and start over again.

The water had begun to cool down as it poured out of the showerhead. Paz shook his head out of his trance and washed the rest of his body before the water got too cold. He reached for a towel with HR embroidered in dark red and wrapped it around his waist as he got out of the shower stall. He went to the mirror and wiped the steam off the cool surface, revealing his face. Since, New York, Paz sported a beard. He rubbed his chin with his hand, feeling the scruff on his face before going about brushing his teeth and getting ready to venture out into Madrid.

Sometime later, Paz was sitting on the bed, putting on a pair of shoes. As he tied the laces, he thought about how he could direct Bourne's attention to the Hotel Regina. Paz knew that any email addresses, phone number, or address would be deleted or watched, so that was out. He grabbed his jacket and his bag and walked out of the room, making sure he had his keycard.

Surely Bourne had an alias that he could forward a message to. Paz inhaled the Madrid air as he stepped outside. He began to walk, thinking about the possibilities. He knew from a few choice words from Vosen that Pamela Landy seemed to have an interest in Bourne that went beyond work. Vosen was under the impression that it was romantic, but Paz thought otherwise. He had seen her once and from the way she held herself, Paz was sure that Pamela Landy would never have a romantic in anyone…not even Jason Bourne.

Paz located the internet café and put down enough money for two hours on a machine. As he sat down and placed his belongings on the next chair, Paz knew that once he had compiled his information, he would need to contact Bourne through Landy.

It was the only thing that made sense. He would have gone through Nicky Parsons, but she was dead (and he had a feeling that she wouldn't have cooperated if she had been alive).

Paz opened his bag and pulled out a folder that had newspaper clippings folding over the top. Since Liverpool, Paz had been compiling notes and articles from the paper about Operation Blackbriar and the death of Nicky Parsons. He had pieced most of it together, but there were still some big holes. First, he knew that the hit was done by an asset.

All of the papers had said that there was no identifiable suspect and that the young woman had been acting out of sorts as she made her way to meet her death. One paper said that she might have shot herself, but the weapon would have been near or on the victim.

The asset, as planned, had vanished into thin air. Because of the hit, Blackbriar was still operational and Paz knew from experience that they would be on him and Jason Bourne as soon as they made themselves known.

He heard the door open and he looked up, only to see two teenage girls entering the internet café, giggling and speaking in Spanish. Paz went back to his work, scanning new sources for any additional information that he might have missed. He took extra care in avoiding trigger words, since he did not want Blackbriar or the CIA to send in a SWAT team.

Paz was taking a risk by being in Madrid, only a cab ride away from the Blackbriar headquarters located in the city. Part of him argued that Bourne was just a failed mission and that he should save his own ass before he got himself killed. The other part – which was louder in protest – wanted Paz to set things right. It was that part of him, that Paz thought died so long ago, that kept him going.

When his two hours were up, Paz went across the street and got himself dinner. He ate in the smoking section, where he had a clear view of the patrons coming in and out of the restaurant. Each sound, every time the door opened, the asset in him crept to the surface. Paz wondered if he would ever been able to be a normal human being once it was all over

After getting new clothes, Paz went back to the hotel room and opened his other bag. Inside were the tools he needed to get inside information from the Spanish headquarters. Listening devices, explosives, guns; everything he would need he had picked up from a secret hiding place in Paris. He had kept a bank account, unknown to Blackbriar, as an emergency stash. Paz pulled out a gun and stared at the wall as he closed the loaded chamber.

* * *

Paz was on his third day in Madrid and no closer to filling in holes. In the late morning heat, he found himself on the roof of the building across the street from Blackbriar. Through his binoculars, he could see right into Aaron Phillip's office. The man was stirring his coffee with a plastic swizzle, and speaking on the phone.

"I wanted to call and check up on what you've found on your end," said Phillips, his British accent liquid as Paz tapped the phone line, praying that someone above was watching over him would allow him not to get caught.

In fact, Paz had gone down to the cathedral and prayed before taking a cab to his current location. In the background, a car's horn echoed through the streets of Madrid.

"Nothing that hasn't been sent through your offices," said the voice of an American woman.

Paz held in his breath. It was Pamela Landy, he was sure of it. He looked down at his feet, where the scanner laid. Red lights moved across the black screen, deciphering the phone number.

He looked up, to see Phillips standing in the window, looking down at the street. He had a look of annoyance across his sharp features. Clearly, he didn't like Landy's avoidance of his questions. After all, she was his superior and Phillips seemed like the type of man who wanted to be in control – not answering to some former beauty queen in the States.

"Pamela, if I may call you that, I hope that you and your staff know that we are trying our hardest to find out more information locally. Just yesterday, I sent a team down to Salamanca to speak with the policía once more, as well as the man who called in the murder…"

_Who is probably dead_, thought Paz as the scanner beeped at him. He looked down and saw a number staring with 202. Paz ignored the conversation for a moment while he looked up the area code on the laptop he had purchased the day before.

Paz typed furiously and waited for the search results as Phillips hung up with Pamela.

The number was coming from the Washington, DC area, meaning Landy and her team was back at the CIA headquarters. Paz wondered if she knew where Bourne was—or was he with her? The latter didn't sound too farfetched and it made sense. Maybe they have struck up a deal; his safety for some answers.

Since Bourne's disappearance, six weeks had passed. Landy probably had all the information she needed and she didn't seem like the type of woman to share.

He turned his attention back to Phillips, who was making a phone call. Paz could hear the phone ringing in his ear piece.

"Hello," said a female voice.

"It's me," said Phillips.

Paz looked down at the scanner, which had started tracing the call.

"You sound angry."

"I just got off the phone with that spiteful woman," growled Phillips.

"Pamela Landy?"

"Yes," Phillips replied, shortly. "We have a problem that might need to be taken care of."

"What problem?"

"I think she might know about Salamanca."

Now Paz was listening. He looked up, binoculars in hand, and watched Phillips as he paced his office.

"How? No one knows about Salamanca," said the woman, her voice rising in anger. "You told me that everything went according to plan and that I had nothing to worry about!"

"I know what I said –"

"You swore to me, Aaron! You said that not even a fingerprint was found at the scene, only that girl's. I did what I was trained to do."

"But Landy is smart."

"So was Ward Abbott and look where it got him," hissed the woman. She breathed into the phone, and then said, "I think you're overreacting."

"And if I'm not?" asked Phillips.

"I'm sure you'll take care of it…as always."

"Why are you so worried to begin with? You have nothing to worry about because according to this fucking operation, you don't even exist!" hissed Phillips. "Not even Hirsch will say a word because of the work Blackbriar and Treadstone put into you!"

"What does that mean?"

"It means that if anyone finds out about Salamanca, my arse is on the line! You disappear into thin air…none of this mess touches you. And who in their right mind would believe that Blackbriar had a female asset…"

Paz took the ear piece out, Phillip's voice fading away as the device fell to the ground. Paz wiped the sweat forming at his forehead, despite the chilly weather.

A female asset?

Paz gulped. The thought of a woman – anyone for that matter - living the same life as him made him sick.

"Jesús Cristo," whispered Paz. He heard the scanner beeping at him. Paz looked down and for once, felt the final pieces fall into place. Wiping his forehead, Paz felt a pair of eyes on him. He looked into the binoculars and saw Phillips staring right at him.

The man was putting the phone down while the expression on his face darkened into rage. Through the traffic of Madrid, Paz could tell what the man was yelling for. It would take him a minute to pack up his makeshift station and make it down the service elevator before Phillips could get his men across the street. In fact, Paz would be able to get to the Metro station in the amount of time it would take for Phillips to realize he had left the building.

Paz grabbed everything he could and shoved it into his duffle bag. He dashed to the door leading to the stair well, not bothering to shut it, and ran down the stairs to the sixth floor, where the service elevator was. As his footsteps echoes on the tiled floors of the building, Paz listened for any sort of commotion from Phillips's men.

Something told him to use the fire escape that he had located the day before. It faced a street that would make him do a detour through the center of Madrid, but it would throw Blackbriar off. Paz ran passed the elevator and down a quiet hallway. At the last door on the left, Paz turned the knob and let himself into someone's office. The normal occupant was gone, possibly at a meeting or to lunch, but it didn't matter to him. Paz closed the door behind him and locked it. Putting the duffle bag down, he lifted the window, ignoring the sweat rolling down his temples and pooling at the small of his back.

Everything and nothing was riding on him making it to Salamanca, then to his destination: Lisbon, Portugal. With a cellular phone he had bought the night before, Paz would make an important phone to Pamela Landy and then Bourne would set the rest in motion.

Only if he made it out of Madrid alive.

The window opened, whining under the pressure of the frame moving against the paint sticking it in place. Paz held his breath, waiting for someone to come.

Nothing.

He grabbed the duffle bag, knowing that he would have to lose it on his way to the train station, where he had left another bag in case exactly this situation arose. Paz stepped out onto the fire escape, gingerly. After deciding it would bear his weight, he closed the window and began his descent down the building.

The familiar ache in his head returned as Paz's feet stepped onto the third floor. The headaches; a consistent reminder of who he was. Paz rubbed his temple with the palm of his hand before continuing down the fire escape.

As his head disappeared from view of the third story window, a gunshot cracked into the air. Paz ducked for a moment, avoiding the broken glass as it fell on top of him. He grabbed his gun from his jacket and shot up at his assailant. The agent ducked behind the window and yelled for back up.

Paz looked over the edge of the fire escape, judging whether he could jump into the dumpster below. He looked up, seeing the agent's head poking out. Paz squeezed the trigger on his gun, making sure the agent didn't get to shoot first. Paz threw the bag over the railing of the fire escape before pushing himself over the edge. A moment later, he hit the foul contents of the dumpster.

Paz pulled himself up and grabbed the duffle bag as he hopped over the dumpster and onto the concrete. He ran into the crowded streets of Madrid as fast as he could. He only had a few moments before other agents would appear in the telling sedans.

Paz maneuvered his way through the crowds and out of the corner of his eye saw a sedan parking across the street. Four agents got out of the car. Paz ducked into a tapas bar, knocking over a waiter. With the patrons staring at him, Paz made his way to the back of the bar and into the kitchen. The cook began screaming at him, his scrawny, goateed chin jutting out, affronted by an intruder in his kitchen… On his way to the exit, Paz tossed his duffle bag into an open oven, causing the bag to ignite, and activating the sprinkler system in the whole establishment.

He pushed the door open and took off running. Without the duffle bag, he could improve his time considerably. Paz knew it would be a matter of minutes before Phillips and his agents knew where he was headed, which would make getting out of Madrid a lot harder.

Paz ran, ignoring his body's aches and pains, to the train station, Estación de AutoRes. He slipped through the glass doors and ran down to the locker, where he had put his train ticket and his other bag. Breathing heavily, Paz unlocked the locker and grabbed the train ticket to Salamanca, the cellular phone, and his bag. He looked around for other agents and was relieved to find that he was ahead of them.

Knowing how Blackbriar thought, they would be closing off the major train and bus terminal in the center of Madrid. They were never ones to look at the smaller details. Oddly enough, that was what was ingrained into each asset's head. Paz slowed his frantic pace and walked through the terminal to his train. As he turned the corner of the terminal, he saw agents flooding the station.

Paz slipped past the agents as calmly as he could and neared his train. He ducked his head down as he showed his passport and ticket. He saw the agents coming down the stairs and the adrenalin pumped faster.

He turned to the ticket-taker, who was checking another passenger's ticket, and asked in Spanish, "Are the trains on time?"

The employee nodded.

"All trains?" asked Paz.

She popped her gum and nodded. "Sí."

Paz took off towards his train. He took out the phone from his pocket and punched in one of the phone numbers he memorized. As it rang, Paz stepped onto the train platform, waiting for the conductor to let people on. Nervously, he paced the platform as the call connected.

"Pamela Landy," said a voice on the other end.

Paz looked over the crowd and saw Phillips waving for two men to follow him. Paz ducked behind a pillar as Landy's voice said, "Hello?"

"I have information for a John Michael Kane," said Paz in a lowered voice.

"What?" said Landy, confused? "I can't hear you. Who is this?"

Paz saw the conductor staring to let people onto the train. He began to walk and said louder, "I want to speak with John Michael Kane."

He could hear Landy snap her fingers. "Who is this?" Paz smirked – she was trying to keep him on the line long enough to trace the call.

"You know who this is," said Paz as he thrust his ticket into the conductor's hand. The man looked at him with annoyance as he studied the ticket.

"We've been wondering when you'd turn up, Mr. Longoria," replied Landy. "But I hate to inform you that Mr. Kane has been dead for two years."

"He's not dead and we both know it," hissed Paz as he snatched the ticket out of the conductor's hand. In the distance, he knew that one of the agents on spotted him. Paz made his way onto the train and began to walk towards the front as calmly as possible.

"What makes you think that he's alive?" asked Landy.

Paz looked over his shoulder in time to see Phillips and an agent board the train. He ducked into a bathroom. "It doesn't matter, but I left a package for him at the Hotel Regina in Madrid. From there, he will be able to find me."

"Why would he need to find you?" asked Landy.

Paz stopped in his tracks. "I have information that he will find valuable."

"Oh? I can assure that he is fully capable of finding out information on his own, Mr. Longoria," Landy retorted. "You'll have to do better than that."

Paz opened a stall and backed into it. "I have information on the asset in Salamanca," he said quietly with a smile as he heard Landy's silence. "I'm sure you know who I'm talking about."

"That type of information is valuable, Mr. Longoria," Landy finally answered. "How will he be able to find you?"

Within seconds she would have his location. Paz smirked to himself and said, "Send him to Madrid. He'll know what to do from there."

Then he dropped the phone into the toilet and flushed it. The phone flashed for a moment before shutting off permanently from water damage.

Paz left the bathroom and made his way towards the train at the platform in front of him. He turned sharply and crossed the platform to the train on the opposite side. Paz flashed the ticket at the bored looking conductor, who waved him on by without bothering to look at the ticket.

As Paz moved down the corridor of the train, he saw Phillips and his men on the platform – looking for him. The train lurched and groaned under his feet as it began to depart the station. Paz held his breath until the train disappeared down the tunnel. He exhaled and found an empty compartment. As he opened the door, he threw his bag one of the seats and went about making himself comfortable for the long train ride to Portugal.


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

He had found himself in the middle of many memories. The safe house in Paris with Nicky huddled in a dark corner. A beat-up car driving down the autobahn with Marie chatting away. A rooftop in New York City with Paz and Vosen lurking in the shadows.

This time he was on the boat where his life as he knew it began. This time he was alone; no crew members to haul him out of the water and no Giancarlo to mend his broken body.

Instead, Jason stood on the deck of the small fishing boat, wearing the t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms he had been given in exchange for his flimsy hospital gown. Gone was the constant aching of his body and the network of bruising from his skin. His body felt refreshed, healthy, and _normal_.

Normal. A far away concept that Jason never quite grasped. Not even when he and Marie lived in Goa did he feel this way.

Squinted into the horizon, Jason saw the golden fields of his previous dream rolling in the distance. Strange that the field was there with him in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. Jason looked down into the water, half expecting to see his body floating next to the boat.

A familiar scent filled his nostrils – lilacs.

Whenever Marie would go to the market, she would bring back lilacs. Jason would sit and watch her arrange the flowers in a vase with a lazy grin on his face. It was a rare memory: quiet, peaceful and happy. Just Marie standing over freshly cut lilacs, her light brown hair falling in her eyes.

Jason walked across the deck, minding the rocking of the boat, following the scent into the lower parts of the boat. As he walked, the materials of the boat slowly changed into tiles. Jason looked up to see a kitchen in front of him. Not the small kitchen on the boat, like he remembered, but a kitchen that should have been inside a house. Everything was trapped in a haze, rendering it impossible for Jason to make out the details of the room except for a table.

As Jason neared the table, he saw the form of a teenaged boy appear in front of him. His head was pillowed his arms.

Jason heard the faint sounds of someone crying. No –sobbing. Jason moved closer to the teenager until he was directly behind him.

The smell of lilacs had faded into a sickening, sweet smell that Jason could not describe. He went to touch the shoulder of the boy. He looked up at Jason.

The asset was staring at himself.

Jason sat up in the bed, a gasp escaping his lips.

It was just him in the dimly lit room and the sound of his heavy breathing and the chill from his sweat mingling with the air. He reached for the lamp next to the bed and flicked on the light.

The hotel room appeared to him. The television was half hidden by a wardrobe door, a heavily crafted piece of furniture which had impressed Jason upon his inspection of the room. The dresser's top drawer was open a crack and he could see a grey shirt stuck between the drawer and the frame. The bed he lay on was still under his body. Two of the four pillows had been knocked onto the carpet, but nonetheless, everything was in its place.

Someone rapped at the door. It was one of the many interchangeable agents that Landy had posted outside his door.

Jason swung his legs over the bed and ran his hand through his short hair. It was damp with sweat, like the t-shirt he had been sleeping in. Another knock. Jason got to his feet and answered the door.

The agent gave him a look of pure annoyance. Jason knew that the agent was hoping for something exciting to happen. After all, he was guarding the Jason Bourne.

Instead, it wasn't anything to be excited about.

"You have a meeting in forty-five minutes," said the agent with deep voice. "Better get ready."

Jason nodded. He saw the agent roll his eyes as he shut the door. Jason peeled off the shirt and dropped it on the floor. Jason looked down to see the digital clock's bright red lights saying that it was ten thirty-three in the morning.

As he scratched his head, Jason walked over to the window and pulled down one of the blinds with his index finger. Between the plastic slats, he could see Washington, DC and all its snow-covered glory.

The Potomac River flowed slowly in the snow fall. Through a maze of Grecian styled buildings, Jason saw the tip of the Washington Monument.

With a sigh, he walked back to the bed and sat down. Today, he would accompany Pamela to see Dr. Hirsch.

He didn't relish the thought of seeing the doctor, even if it was a controlled setting. The very thought made Jason's stomach churn and boil with rage. Instead of refusing, he had gritted his teeth and nodded when Landy had asked him if he would go.

Jason stripped down to nothing and walked into the bathroom connected with the bedroom. He turned on the shower and got right in, not caring whether the water was hot or not. His body still had bruising on various extremities, but they no longer bothered him when he worked out in the gym on the club level of the hotel. Jason was used to worse things than a few aches and pains. After a few minutes of being stagnant, Jason began to wash himself.

Thirty minutes later, Jason emerged clean and freshly shaven. He was pulling a sweater over his head when he realized that Landy was sitting in an arm chair with a brown paper bag in her hand. Jason adjusted the sweater while eyeing the bag.

"I brought you breakfast," Landy said as she watched Jason put on his shoes. "You can eat it on the way over."

Jason shrugged as he grabbed his jacket. "Thanks."

They made their way to the sedan and quickly ducked inside. As Jason was settling into the seat, Pamela said, "We received a call from Paz Longoria."

He paused as he was buckling his seatbelt. "When?" Jason asked.

"This morning," Pamela replied as she handed Jason the bag. "It was from a cell phone in Spain, probably somewhere in or near Madrid."

Jason looked at the paper bag, thinking. Paz was in Spain? Had the asset just gotten there or was he hanging around the county, drinking in bars and enjoying his accomplishment of his task? Was Paz relishing Nicky's murder? A victorious grin on Paz's face appeared in Jason's mind.

"He called my office, a little past eight this morning," began Pamela. She noticed he wasn't eating and said, "Eat." Once she saw Jason take a bite out of the blueberry muffin, she continued, "He asked for you…well, John Michael Kane. As you know, you used multiple contacts that knew you by that name. Paz knew that by addressing you in that way, it would catch our attention." Pamela studied him, waiting for a response. Jason did nothing, but waited for her to go on. "He knows you're alive. I'm not surprised. You both received the same training and he knows what abilities you have."

Jason nodded. "What did he say?"

"He left you a package at the Hotel Regina in Madrid," replied Pamela. "That's all he told me."

A smirk crossed Jason's lips. He had not lost his touch in the last six weeks since their last meeting on the New York City rooftop. Something so insignificant, something so obvious. Paz had gotten his attention in the only way that the asset knew how. Retracing Jason's steps from a past life. _No, my current life,_thought Jason.

Pamela was watching him again. Whenever they were in the same room together, she would be watching him, trying to figure him out. After all, Jason Bourne was a mystery to everyone, even himself. Maybe that was why she was fascinated by him. Even now, his own movements were foreign to him. For a person who looked so sure, Jason Bourne was a paradox. She leaned back in her seat and said, "I have a meeting with the President to discuss this situation. He and his cabinet are very curious about you and I need to bring them up to speed."

Jason remained silent.

"First, we speak with Hirsch and see what you can get out of him," said Landy. "Then we'll go from there." The car stopped. Pamela looked out the tinted window. "We're here," she announced as she opened the car door.

A gush of cold air entered the car. Jason slid across the seat and put his foot down on the snow-covered pavement. The cold bit at his cheeks, for a moment bringing him back to the night he lay on the bank of the East River.

A few days before they left for Washington, DC, Pamela had come to see Jason. At that point in time, he did not know that he would be leaving the confines of the facility. Jason just assumed they would keep him there.

His health had improved and his body hurt less. It was then that Jason began to have trouble sleeping. His dreams were plagued by a little boy, fields, and unfamiliar voices saying his old name. Sometimes it would be Marie that haunted him, but mostly, Nicky would be watching him from the shadows. He could feel her eyes on him, accusing him of letting her die.

The guilt was overwhelming… Pamela could see it.

"So," she said.

Jason looked at her. He had been lying in bed, watching the snow fall. "So," he responded, not looking at her.

"I told you that we could discuss your return to the CIA at a later date, however I wanted to wait for you to recover," Pamela started as she walked over to the bed. She cocked her head to study him. "Jason?"

He looked at her, annoyed with the constant questions, the constant stares, the constant poking and prodding. "I'm listening," he said curtly.

"Good," Pamela crossed her arms over her chest. "I know that you feel the need to tie up loose ends. To find out who is responsible for murdering Nicky."

Jason looked at her, about to protest, but Pamela held her hand up.

"I've studied you, Jason. I know you better than you wish me to. You feel it's necessary to make amends for what happened to her, like you did with Marie. I understand that," said Pamela. "The job offer is very real and I would like to extend it to you once more. We give you the means to find the people who did this and whoever remains of Blackbriar. Anything you will need, we will supply you. No questions asked. Any damage you cause, we will turn a blind eye."

"What about bodies, will your organization turn a blind eye to _that_?" spat Jason.

Pamela nodded something that shocked Jason. "If it means that people will die, the CIA will more or less condone it."

Jason looked at his hands, which had almost healed up, thinking about the opportunity. "I would essentially be working for the CIA?"

"Essentially, yes," answered Pamela. "We may call upon you in the future, if a situation requires it. For the most part, you will be left alone after what you need to do is done. However – if you agree to it – our medical staff would like to assess the effects of the training that you received and see if anything can be done about it, as well as address your amnesia. You will be placed under surveillance for a six-month period and in that time; you would be living in one of our facilities until any media coverage has died down. After six months, you can go on the condition we have an idea of where to find you. On the off chance that you trust us, I can make that job offer a permanent position." Pamela looked at Jason, who was still staring at his hands. "I can even find some more information about David Webb, if you feel inclined to know about him."

Jason looked up, startled. The way she had said his name was like David Webb was another person. In a way, he was. Any memories of life as David Webb were erased, due to his conditioning. Even then, Jason wasn't sure who this man had been. He was only a name, a figment of his imagination.

He nodded, having no other options. "Fine," he said. "Fine, I'll do it."

Now Jason found himself staring at the Pentagon's massive structure. As he got out of the car (leaving the bag inside), he saw the Potomac River and some of the taller buildings in downtown Arlington. An agent shut the car door behind him. Jason looked at Pamela, who motioned him to follow her.

"Welcome to the Pentagon," she said as she pulled out her badge. Pamela looked at him and smiled as he studied the building. "Dr. Hirsch was brought in from Sing Sing early this morning and the Pentagon was the most secure place for us to meet with him. If he were brought to Langley, it would pose a security threat since we're not sure if all of the Blackbriar operatives are obsolete within the Agency."

Through a maze of security checkpoints, agents in suits and stern expressions, metal detectors, and marble floors, Jason found himself in the front lobby. In front of him was a kid named Scott, who was clearly an intern. He was a light haired kid with bright blue eyes and that type of "good ol' Southern boy" look to him.

_He's six foot one, somewhere between one eighty-five and two hundred pounds. Swimmer's build, so he obviously knows how to use his body. His left arm is a bit slower than his right, probably a swimming injury,_observed Jason. In fact, he had been sizing up every single person since entering the Pentagon. He knew which exits led out to Arlington Boulevard or to the interstate. As his mind processed his surroundings, Jason felt sick to his stomach. It was Dr. Hirsch that made him this way and he was about to meet face to face with him. He created a robot of a man, killing David Webb in the process.

"Sir?" said Scott, a soft drawl in his voice. "Sir?"

Jason looked at the kid, who was holding up a badge.

"Your badge," said Scott, holding it out.

Jason took the badge and mumbled, "Thank you," under his breath. He pinned it to the collar of his sweater. He looked at Pamela who was taking off her jacket and was chatting with Tom Cronin, who had arrived before them.

"You're welcome, Mr. Kane," replied Scott with a grin on his face.

Jason looked up, startled. Slowly, he walked away from the desk towards Landy, who motioned him to follow her to the elevators. As the elevator door closed, Jason torn off his badge and saw the name he was dreading.

There in black ink – _John Michael Kane_.

"It was the only name that we could use without alarming anyone," said Pamela before Jason even asked his question. She looked at him, her face solid underneath the harsh lights of the elevator. "Dr. Hirsch has not been very cooperative during our investigation."

Back to business as always. _Well, nothing gets by you, Landy_, thought Jason.

"He will probably try to gout you with what he knows about you," explained Pamela. "I'm sure you are expecting that, but I wanted to give you fair warning. Regards, you should try remain calm. We cannot have you roughing him up under our jurisdiction. You have the right to leave the room any given moment to collect yourself. We are on your watch."

Jason swallowed. As they neared the lower levels of the Pentagon, his hands began to sweat. He could hear his pulse pounding against his skin and his stomach churn.

"And if you decide you can't go through with it, that's fine," added Landy.

It was strange to be given a choice.

_Yes you do._Three simple words that were so far out of reach for him and even then Jason wanted to believe Marie. Even then Jason didn't believe her. Even when he pushed her lifeless body away from him, he didn't believe her.

The elevator made a grinding noise as it descended below the Pentagon. Silence overtook the small space and let Jason's thoughts wonder. Moments of his training flashed before his eyes, hazy at first, then gradually clearer.

Rough arms were closing around him, overpowering him. He was struggling, screaming at the men, trying to dig his feet into the concrete floors.

Unconsciously, Jason balled his fists.

_You haven't slept for a long time now. Have you made a decision? _It was Dr. Hirsch's voice. _This can't go on. You have to decide._

_Who is he?_

We've been through this.

What did he do?

It doesn't matter. You picked us. You volunteered. You said that you would do what it takes to save American lives. You're not a liar, are you? Or too weak to see this through? This is it. Let go of David Webb. Will you give yourself to this program?

A gunshot.

_You're no longer David Webb. From now on you'll be known as Jason Bourne. Welcome to the program._

"Jason?"

Jason blinked again and found that he was still in the elevator with Cronin and Landy, both of whom looked concerned.

"Are you sure you want to do this," asked Landy as Cronin flashed his keycard against a sensor in the elevator.

The doors slid open, revealing a fluorescent lit hallway with its' stark white walls and linoleum floors.

Jason straightened his posture. "I'm fine," he replied back in a low voice.

"Maybe it's too soon, Pam," said Cronin.

Pamela looked at Jason, her eyes asking for an answer.

"I'm fine," said Jason, his voice rising as he pushed passed Landy and Cronin.

Pamela inhaled deeply and followed after Jason with Cronin in tow.

As they neared the room, Jason that there was a small envoy of agents surrounding the room. Through the two-way mirror next to the door, there was a man with a shock of white hair wearing an orange jump suit seated inside the room. He had aged since Jason had last seen him, even more so under the harsh fluorescent lights.

An agent tapped Cronin's shoulder and pulled him aside. They began to talk in hushed tones.

"Are you ready?" asked Pamela as she placed her hand on the door knob.

Jason nodded. "I suppose so," he said.

Pamela shrugged and opened the door, letting Jason into the room.

"Hello Jason," said the crisp voice of Dr. Albert Hirsch. "I've been expecting you."

* * *

_Lisbon, Portugal_

Mia fingered the scarf as she studied its quality. The fabric was all right, but not worth the forty euro that the man was asking for. She nodded and said her thanks before walking away from the booth in the praça.

She was taking Phillip's advice to go shopping. It was a crisp morning and the smell of water still lingered after a late night shower. The drying puddles had not stopped vendors the following morning, or the tourists.

Yesterday had been…unsettling.

Phillips had cut off their conversation in a panic and she had yet to hear from him. It wasn't unusual for Phillips to abruptly end their conversations, but he always made it a point to contact her within a few hours to continue where they left off.

Sensing that something was not right, Mia had packed a gun in her purse. Throughout her morning, she felt a sense of dread – as if someone was watching her.

Walking passed a store; Mia caught her reflection in the window. Dark circles hung under her hazel eyes, but that was normal. A knit cap covered the top of her dark hair as the rest grazed the skin below her collarbone. Under her coat, were her standard long sleeved sweater, gloves, and jeans tucked into a pair of boots. The boots, an expensive affair of black leather, were a gift from Abbott after she completed her first assignment.

She had been sent to Istanbul to murder a former associate of Abbott's. A whistle-blower. Mia had forgotten his name. She had forgotten a lot of things. Between the time she had left her hotel in Istanbul and a darkened hotel room in Ankara, it was all blank. She had found herself sitting on a bed with a blanket draped over her shoulders. Her hair, as well as the left side of her face, was caked in dried blood. Her clothes were damp and she was shivering.

"What happened?" she whispered.

Abbott sat down next to her and clasped his hands together. "You completed your first assignment, Mia."

"I did?" She looked at him, unsure whether he was telling the truth. After all, Ward Abbott had lied to her before. "Are you sure?"

Abbott nodded. "Don't you believe me?"

She looked down at her hands, which were covered in blood. A few of her fingernails were broken, ruining her recent manicure. Mia had not been sure if the blood was her own or her target's.

Various muscles ached in her legs, as if she had been running for an extended amount of time. She didn't remember running anywhere. Her clothes – a simple black turtleneck sweater and black pants – smelt of water. A sewer, perhaps. Her shoes were missing, but her socks were still on her feet.

As she shifted on the bed, she let out a gasp as her side burst into pain. Mia dropped the blanket and lifted up her sweater. A wound, caused by a sharp object, had begun to bleed again. She touched it, gingerly, and winced.

Nervously, she glanced at Abbott, whose expression was un-readable.

"Do you believe me now?" he asked, his voice almost taunting her. Daring her to question the evidence lay before her. _Go on, I dare you_, said his voice in her head.

A child bumped into her, jolting Mia back into reality. She looked down to see a little girl carrying a red balloon in her hand. The girl smiled, then ran back to her mother, who was calling for her.

Mia smiled and looked back to the window. Something caught her attention, something so strange that she almost didn't except it. A man was staring at her from the middle of the busy praça. It wasn't just an admirer, but someone studying her.

Mia turned around and saw him in the daylight. He was of average height – maybe five ten or five eleven, with six weeks' worth of facial hair, and dark eyes. His body language gave him away.

He must have known that she had spotted him, too. As a crowd of school children walked in front of him, he took the opportunity to vanish.

It was then that Mia decided to go home.

* * *

"I knew you would come," said Dr. Hirsch as Jason sat down. The smile on his face seemed almost menacing to Jason. The older man turned to the agent and said, "Leave us."

The agent looked out the window and saw Pamela nod.

Within moments, Jason was left alone in the room with Hirsch. He studied the older gentleman, noting that his white hair seemed thinner as did his already frail frame. Clearly confinement was not treating Dr. Hirsch well.

"I knew you were still alive," Dr. Hirsch stated, priding filling his voice. "After all, I was there during your training. It was something we taught each of you to do. You know, survive. I must say that you did it the best."

Jason stared at the man, not knowing what to say or if he should say anything at all.

"Are they treating you all right?" asked the doctor, his voice filling with concern. He put his hands on the table, revealing the handcuffs on his wrists. The palms were open, as if he wanted to hold Jason's hands in his own.

Jason's stomach lurched. "Did you order the hit on Nicky Parsons?" asked Jason as his stare hardened.

"The girl from Paris?" replied Hirsch, though Jason already knew that Hirsch knew who she was.

Jason only nodded.

"You know, you two thought we never knew about your affair. I knew the whole time, as did Ward," said Hirsch, his facial expression darkening. "We never told Alexander because he would have had you killed."

"That doesn't answer my question," Jason snapped. "Did you order the hit on Nicky?"

Hirsch leaned back in his chair and smirked. "You never loved her, not like she loved you. She knew it. You could read it all over her pretty little face. And it killed her."

"I need to know…" Jason began as he tried to keep his composure. He wanted nothing more than to punch this man's face in, but he had to keep his emotions in check. "What do you know about the hit on her?"

"You should have seen her face when you didn't come back from the Wombosi assignment. She cried for weeks, Jason. But I knew…you couldn't have been dead," rambled Hirsch. "You are super human, it seems. Nothing could kill you."

Jason felt the anger rise. "You know something," he said in a dangerous tone. "I know you do…I can read it all over your face."

Out of the corner of Jason's eye, he saw Cronin talking to Pamela, his expression grim. Pamela's stoic expression melted into shock. Cronin handed her something and watched her read it. They looked at Jason through the window and immediately, he knew something was very wrong.

"Even they know something," said Jason, his voice calm. "It's something you don't want them to know."

Hirsch looked at the window and shrugged, nonchalantly. "I'm not particularly worried about them finding the answers they are looking for. Even you won't complete the puzzle, Jason Bourne. I know so much about you…before you were you. You must be curious about the life of David Webb. Who he was. How he got to be that way." Hirsch began to trace a pattern on the table and laughed. "How you killed him."

"I didn't kill anyone," growled Jason.

Hirsch smiled. "Yes you did. You know that man? The one you shot? Your final test? You wanted to know who he was, don't you remember?"

Jason gripped the edges of the table as rage filled his body. "I don't want to know who he was!"

"Funny, since that was all you asked about for three days. Who he was. What he had done," Hirsch snapped. He leaned back in the chair and studied his nails. "Don't you remember?"

Jason gritted his teeth, remembering him in a tiny room with a hooded figure with Hirsch whispering into his ear.

_Have you made a decision?_

_This can't go on. _

_You have to decide._

"Ah," Hirsch observed. "You do remember, don't you?"

Jason shook his head. "I had no choice, but to shoot him," he growled.

"Do I need to remind you, Mr. Bourne that you picked us? It was you who volunteered for this. When I interviewed you, you were the one that said that you would do what it takes to save American lives," Hirsch said in taunting voice as he shook his finger at Jason. "I never forced you to do anything."

Jason shook his head again as he stood up to pace the room. "You lied to me. To everyone. You gave us half truths about this program…"

"Well and so," Hirsch answered simply.

Suddenly, Jason found his hands shaking Hirsch by his collar. He watched as Hirsch's head bobbed with each shake and how he laughed as Jason pleaded for him to stop telling him about his first kill. "You did this," he hissed. "It was you. You lied to us."

"You were the one who pulled the trigger, Jason. You killed him! Just like you killed David Webb," retorted Hirsch in a low voice.

"It was you," Jason replied as he squeezed the older man's collar tightly. Hirsch coughed, trying to catch his breath. Jason pressed down onto the man's throat, pushing at the skin, slowly, to collapse his wind pipe.

Jason watched Hirsch gasping for air as he continued to press. In a calm voice, Jason whispered, "You knew what the program was and you lied. I may have been following orders, but it was always you who pulled the trigger."

Jason felt someone pulling him off of Hirsch. It was Cronin, who dragged Jason across the room and held him against the wall. Judging by the way Cronin had pinned Jason's arms behind his back, he should have guessed that Landy's right hand man had a military background.

Hirsch laughed, hoarsely as he caught his breath, "It was you, Jason! You made the choice!"

No one noticed that Pamela had come into the room until she slammed her hand down on the metal table. Under her palm was a postcard with a photograph of the Plaza Mayor in Salamanca. "What is the name of the female asset you sent after Nicolette Parsons?"

The room fell silent.

Dr. Hirsch, who had been laughing, suddenly turned pale and his mouth hung open in complete shock.

"What?" Jason gasped. He looked at Cronin, then Hirsch, then back to Pamela, who stood perfectly still.

"Don't make me ask again, Dr. Hirsch," warned Landy.

Hirsch searched for the words before he said, "How did you find out about Mia?"


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

_Lisbon, Portugal_

Mia watched as her cell phone's screen lit up for the fifth time. She knew it was Phillips, probably wondering where she was. Before she would answer it before the first ring ended, but now she was not too sure.

She had taken the long way home earlier that day: taking the tram down to Belém and then found two buses that headed back to Centro Histórico Baixa. While the trip would have only taken twenty minutes at most, Mia spent the better part of the day trying to evade the other asset.

Though certain that he had stopped following her in the praça, Mia knew that she could never be so sure.

After all, she was the asset they sent to clean up messes. Following a target in the shadows was second nature. She could only assume that it would be his as well.

The cell phone stopped ringing and the lights shut off.

Mia inhaled and waited. Phillips would call again and this time she would need to answer.

She couldn't let him know she knew that another asset was in Lisbon. The ache in the back of her head began to intensify. Mia swallowed and closed her eyes as a thin sheen of perspiration appeared on her forehead.

_There was a breach_, thought Mia. _Someone knows…_

The phone rang again and Mia's eyes snapped open. She placed the cup on the table next to her and grabbed the ringing phone. Before she could even say hello, Phillips's voice said, "We have a problem."

"What type of problem?" asked Mia calmly.

"Paz Longoria was spotted in Madrid yesterday afternoon," said Phillips. "He was our asset out of Naples, but dropped off the grid after Bourne was eliminated." Phillips paused.

"Were you able to apprehend him?"

Phillips cleared his throat, something he did when he was annoyed. "No. He lost us in Estación de AutoRes. He must have switched trains…I have no idea. Regardless…Mia he might be headed your way."

"Do you want him dead or alive?" asked Mia, eyeing her gun on the coffee table.

"Dead."

* * *

"Who is Mia, Albert?" asked Pamela.

The older man looked grim. For the last twenty minutes, he was silent. He looked at Pamela, who hovered over him.

"Who is Mia?" she said more forcefully as she slammed the postcard down on the table. "Who is she?"

Jason watched from the two-way mirror his arms folded across his chest. Cronin and the other agents kept a safe distance from the asset as he mulled over what Landy had said. He had pushed Cronin off him and silently stalked out of the interrogation room, his mind racing with questions.

_What female asset? Who is she? Why? _

He heard someone clear their throat. Jason turned his head and saw Cronin inching towards him. Jason acknowledged him then turned his attention back to Hirsch and Landy.

"She's pretty good at cracking hard cases," Cronin said. He took a step back when Jason looked at him with an annoyed expression. "Pamela…that is."

Jason swallowed. "Did I hear her right?"

"Yes," Cronin answered. "You did."

The asset shifted his weight from one side to the other. "How did this happen? How could anyone not know about this?"

Cronin shrugged in disbelief. "I have absolutely no idea."

Then both men were silent as they heard Pamela's voice echoing over the speakers placed outside the room's thick walls. They could see her willowy figure pace the room with her arms over her chest and a hard expression on her face.

"Albert, you are not helping yourself by staying quiet."

The old man looked at Jason, then back at Pamela. "I want him to hear this," he said, his voice crusty.

Pamela let out an aggravated sigh and motioned with her fingers for Jason to enter the room. Jason was about to walk to the door when Cronin's arm stopped him.

"You don't need to do this," said Cronin. "He wants to rattle you, like he did before. Pamela can get him to talk, though it will take a little time. I've seen her interrogate people like him before. Pam is ruthless."

"No," snapped Jason. "We don't have any time. I should have been on a plane the minute that Paz called from Madrid." He pushed Cronin out of the way and opened the door.

Pamela looked at Jason for a moment, deciding if he could handle the information that Dr. Hirsch was about to tell them. She turned back to the doctor and said in a low voice, "You have him. Now who is Mia?"

"After Jason…after we lost him, we decided we needed another asset. Someone who did not have the military training, but could still be molded…to perform," began Dr. Hirsch. "Each asset shared particular traits, like Jason: military background, super intelligence, critical thinking…the list goes on. Jason was our greatest accomplishment," he said, looking at the asset. "You, Jason, you have no idea what you were to the program. You were the perfect asset…"

"I don't care about Jason Bourne right now. I want to know about Mia," demanded Pamela. She leaned over the old man, getting in his face. "Don't make me ask again."

Dr. Hirsch glared at Pamela. "Ward found her in the Faculdade de Letras at the Universidade de Coimbra in Portugal. I don't know how he found her, but he did. She trusted him and he told her that he was going to give her a job with the CIA, based in Lisbon. I read her file before she came to New York. She was an orphan. Her parents were dead, she had no one. As a girl, she went to foster care and excelled in school. Georgetown gave her a full ride and would have probably paid for her master's degree. I think Ward knew what he was doing – picking a girl like that. She was starved for parental affection, someone to tell her that they were proud of her. And he fed into that. Mia bought it."

"So, you let Ward Abbott manipulate a young girl and you made her into an asset for your amusement?" asked Pamela.

Dr. Hirsch shook his head. "It wasn't for our amusement! I knew what she was. She was special! She wasn't _you_," said the doctor as he looked at Jason. "But she would do. She was brought to our facility in New York. The same facility…well…you know. Mia was stubborn. She didn't want to bend at will, but six months later, she did it. She snapped and I knew she was ready. She was renamed Mia Campos…code name Blackbriar."

"Blackbriar?" asked Jason.

Dr. Hirsch looked at him. "We decided to rename the project after her. After all, no one would ever suspect her of being one of you. A girl like that, even though she could snap a man's arm in half without even having a second thought. I've seen her do it. She looked so serene, as the man laid on the floor in pain." Dr. Hirsch began to smile, as if admiring a lover. "She looked like an angel."

Pamela looked at Jason, who visibly couldn't comprehend what he was hearing. "Who handled her after Abbott died?"

"Someone in the Madrid offices, I'm not sure," answered Dr. Hirsch. He looked at Jason. "They would have ordered the assassination on Nicolette Parsons…your Nicky." He put his hand on the postcard and pushed it over to the edge nearest Jason.

Jason walked over to the table, flipped over the postcard and saw Nicky's frantic handwriting.

_Female asset. Caucasian, dark brown hair, hazel eyes, average height. She's going to kill me. Tell Jason. She's going to kill me. NP_

For a moment, he could picture her writing the postcard as her life ticked down to mere minutes. The terror on her face. Nicky knew she was going to die at any moment and she still thought of Jason. And the asset. Instead of feeling rage, he felt sorry for her. Jason looked up at Hirsch and said, "You forced a civilian into this mess?"

"I did not act alone!" yelled Hirsch.

Jason grabbed Hirsch from the chair and pushed him against the wall. "You took her and forced her into a life that she didn't deserve!"

"It doesn't matter now, Jason. She is just like you!"

Jason slammed Hirsch against the wall and heard the man let out a cry of pain. "How old was she? Or did that not matter to you?"

"She was twenty-two when we entered her into the project," whispered Hirsch.

Jason let go of the man, his anger returning. He could feel it filling his body and circulating through his blood. Jason leaned his head against the cool surface and closed his eyes.

This girl – no, young woman – would be about twenty-four, perhaps twenty-five now.

Jason let out a primal yell as his fist connected with the wall. Pain filled his hand, but it didn't stop him. With each punch, blood splattered on the white wall. As Jason was about to punch the wall again, Landy grabbed his hand, bringing him back to reality.

"Now you listen to me," said Landy in a quiet voice, not letting Hirsch over hear them. "You cannot do this to yourself. What's done is done. I understand you are angry and confuse, but punching walls, throwing old men against solid objects, and almost breaking your hand is not the way to go about ending this."

Jason was shaking. He looked Landy in the eye and said, "I need to go to Madrid."

"I know you do," said Landy.

Jason nodded. "I need to leave tonight."

* * *

Hours later, Jason sat in business class with a glass of wine on the tray top. His hand was wrapped in bandages, concealing the broken skin underneath.

He had been returned to the safe house. In the safety of the room, Jason sat in one of the overstuffed chairs and stared out the window, thinking. Who was this female asset? Would she be as ruthless as the other assets Jason had encountered or would she be different?

Could he offer her a choice, similar to the one that Landy had given him? Would she even take it?

With his chin prompt up on his palm, Jason dozed off. Since waking up in the hospital room in New York, Jason slept soundly.

When he did wake up, much later in the day, Jason found Pamela sitting in his room, next to a suitcase that had been packed for him. In her hand was an envelope with the British Airways logo on it.

"How did you sleep?" she asked.

Jason rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up in the chair. "Fine," he mumbled.

"Good," Pamela said. She motioned to the plane tickets in her hand. "We booked you a red eye that is landing at Madrid Barajas International Airport. Your flight should arrive at eight in the morning and the ticket is open-ended. A room was booked for you under the name John Michael Kane at the Hotel Regina. Ask for the package when you arrive. You will need to check in as soon as you can."

Jason swung his legs over the bed and stood up. "Then what?" he asked as he reached for his sweater that hung on the back of a chair.

"That is up to you," replied Pamela. She studied him for a moment, sensing that he was itching to ask her a question. "There's something you want."

Jason nodded. "What about Mia Campos?" He watched Pamela lean back, surprised. "What should I do if I encounter her?"

"If Ms. Campos doesn't try to kill you, offer her protection," Pamela said as she stood up. "We'll need to speak to her, of course." She held out her hand that contained the tickets. "If she refuses to cooperate…I'm sure you'll make the right choice, Jason."

Jason eyed the tickets, and then grabbed them out of her hand. "Why are you helping me? Off the record?" He looked at this woman, wondering how they got to this place. For once, he felt like he wasn't completely alone in the world.

"Everyone deserves closure, Jason," Pamela said as she took her jacket and walked to the door. She placed her hand on the knob. She turned to him and added, "Even you."

_Even me_, thought Jason as he stared at his reflection in the dark airplane window. _Even her_, he thought, thinking of Mia Campos.

Jason pulled the blind down and settled back into his seat. Cronin had been the one who accompanied him to BWI airport and even shook his hand before Jason walked through the security checkpoint, a bag slung over his shoulder and his necessary paperwork in his hand.

Now the rest was up to him.

He was under strict orders not to contact anyone besides the Langley offices, an order Jason would gladly follow. On the laptop, were files on all personnel in the Madrid, Paris, and London offices of the CIA. Jason had a list of the still active Blackbriar operatives, even Paz Longoria.

Except for hers. While Landy's team was working on getting her files out of Zürich, Jason knew he would need to work out her mystery on his own. Paz was probably tailing her as he sat on the plane, if he hadn't been killed yet.

Jason looked at his watch.

Five more hours before the plane would land in Madrid.

It wasn't soon enough.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

_Langley, Virginia_

Tom was about to walk into his office when he saw the desk lamp still on in Pamela's office. With his jacket draped over his arm and his briefcase in hand, Cronin walked to his superior's office and lightly rapped on the glass.

Pamela, who had been reading over a document, looked up and smiled. She closed the folder and motioned for him to come in. As he opened the door, Pamela said, "You're here early."

"So are you," quipped Cronin as he shut the door. He nodded at the folder. "Whatcha got there?"

Pamela shrugged. "Nothing of importance to you," she replied. "Have you heard from Bourne yet?'

"His passport hit our grid about a few hours ago. He made it past customs and he should have arrived at the hotel by now," replied Cronin. "I have no idea what's keeping him."

Pamela shrugged as she began to shift through other paperwork. "I won't be too concerned about it. Bourne has a tendency to work with his own schedule."

Cronin set down his briefcase and leaned back in the chair. "You are being very lax about working with him," he observed.

"I trust him to do the right thing is all," Pamela answered without looking up. After a moment, she could feel Cronin's skeptical stare. She turned her and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Cronin held up his hands and shrugged. "I didn't say a word," he replied. As Cronin was about to change the subject, Pamela's cell phone rang. She held up a finger and went to answer it. "Landy."

"I'm here." Bourne's voice.

* * *

_Madrid, Spain_

"Jason? What's wrong?" asked Pamela.

Of course she would assume the worst and she have every right to. Jason adjusted the cell phone's Blue Tooth chip as he dumped the rest of the brandy on top of the CIA issued lap top. He shook the bottle to make sure it was empty and tossed it to the side, ignore the sound of shattering glass against the wall.

He went to check on the brandy soaked laptop that sat on a nightstand next to a broken iron, which Jason had found in the closet. He had ripped the cord out when he couldn't find the obligatory set of matches that all hotels seem to have.

"Jason?" Pamela said into his ear.

"Nothing is wrong," he replied as he grabbed the end of the cord and plugged it into the wall, being mindful of the electrical charge that surged through it. Jason backed away from the nightstand and grabbed his duffle bag as he walked to the door.

The exposed wires had begun to hiss and spark as he closed the door to his hotel room. Jason strolled down the hallway towards to the stairs he had seen on his way to the room and paused for a moment.

"What was in the package that Paz left for you?" Pamela asked.

As the words left her mouth, he heard a bang, followed by his now vacated hotel room's door being blown open. Jason could feel his face beginning to blister as flame began to spread along the walls and carpet. He turned his heel and ran into the safety of the stairwell as the fire alarm began to sound. In his ear, he could hear the anxiety in Landy's voice as she yelled, "What the hell was that?"

"I was getting rid of evidence," Jason answered simply.

"What evidence?" asked Landy. "Did he leave anything important?"

Doors from other floors opened onto the stairwell and soon people were coming down the corridor, coughing and panicked. Jason picked up his pace, trying to get to the lobby before any other of the hotel guests saw him.

"Nothing we didn't already know." It was true – the documents that Paz had left in the package were things that Landy had already filtered to Jason. The other asset had spent a good deal of time gathering his intel while staying under the radar of Blackbriar.

The one thing that made Jason uneasy was the train ticket to Lisbon. "How did he sound when you spoke with him?"

"Overwhelmed, winded, like he had been chased down before being able to make the call," answered Pamela. "Why?"

The scene before him was chaos. People were pushing to exit the hotel while the Hotel Regina's staff and emergency personnel tried to get its patrons to remain calm and exit the building. Jason filed in with a group of people hurrying passed.

As he crossed the hotel lobby, Jason felt his instincts kicking in. Had anyone seen him exit the stairwell alone? Did they notice the way he kept his eye averted?

He felt someone's eyes on him as he brushed passed the front desk. Jason looked up and saw the woman who had checked in him only an hour before.

She was staring in his direction, trying to figure out how she recognized him. Jason saw her lights up in remembrance and time began to slow down as she called for security.

"Jason?" said Landy. "Jason, are you still with me?"

Jason flinched when he heard the footsteps of the policía coming from behind him. His free hand reached into the hidden pocket in his jacket for his gun.

He began to count how many paces behind they were before he swung around ready to fight. Instead, it was emergency personnel. They pushed past him to the man a few feet away. The man, who looked to be in his early seventies, was ashen and clutching a pillar in the lobby.

_Oh_, thought Jason as he pushed passed people to get to the street.

"Jason?"

"I'm here," he said. Jason stepped outside and turned towards the metro, located in the heart of the city. It was near siesta and the traffic would start picking up as people were heading home. A taxi would only alert law enforcement and Blackbriar to his presence.

"Tell me what you're thinking."

"He knows," said Jason. "He knows about Mia Campos and he's in Lisbon, trying to find her." Jason heard Landy sigh as he made his way through the crowds of people. "Pam," Jason started. "I need to go."

"Fine," he heard Landy say in an unreadable tone. "Be careful."

He closed the cell phone and shoved it into his pocket as he neared a busy intersection. The light turned. Walking briskly, he put more distance between himself and the hotel.

As he walked, Jason realized that he would need to contact Paz somehow. The other asset must have left a number for Jason to use. As Jason headed down into the metro, he thought of the train ticket that he had shoved into the front pocket of his bag. He found a niche at the bottom of the stairs and dug out the rumpled ticket. Written in red ink was a phone number – most likely Paz's. Jason began to race towards the ticketing station as he inputted the number into his cell phone. He hit send and waited for the device to connect.

The phone began to ring. On the third ring, he heard the phone being answered. "I need you to listen to me very carefully," ordered Jason, keeping his voice low.

"You got my package…and you're alive," replied Paz, his voice sounding hard, concentrated.

Jason took out his passport and held out the ticket for the station attendant, who barely looked at either.

"Whatever you're about to do or are thinking about doing," Jason began to say as he crossed over threshold of the platform, "I need you to wait. There are things that I need to you tell you, but in person. It's not safe to say it right now."

"What things?" asked Paz.

"Important things," snapped Jason. "Important things that could be blown if you don't wait for me to get to Lisbon."

"Where are you now?"

"I'm at the train station."

"That ticket came in handy," Paz remarked. "I'm glad you can take a hint."

"There is a train leaving the station in ten minutes," said Jason as he found the train. "Can you wait nine hours?"

He heard Paz mumble. "Nine hours is a long time to wait," he said, plainly.

"I need you to work with me," hissed Jason. "You still _owe_me."

"I gave you information regarding your girlfriend," growled Paz. "I owe you nothing."

"You gave me information that I already knew."

Paz did not reply. Instead, Jason heard him breathing heavily.

"I am trying to help us both out, but I need you to work with me. Can you do that?"

Paz let out a snort. "Fine," he said. "Fine. The main train station is Santa Apolónia. I'll meet you there."

Jason looked at his ticket as he rushed through the station, "Fine. I'll see you then."

"I'll be waiting by the tram," replied Paz. "Have a good trip."

* * *

_Lisbon, Portugal _

Paz hung up his cell phone and looked at the scene in front of him. His gun was broken down, in various states of clean. His old clothes were drying in the window, which were cleverly placed so that no prying eyes could see into the room at the hostel.

He was annoyed at Jason Bourne, only because he knew that the other asset was right. Paz would need to wait before doing anything. Bourne knew more than he did and it killed him. However, he was not surprised.

Paz tossed the cell phone over his shoulder and walked to the sink. He turned on the cold water and splashed some on his face. He looked up to see the tired eyes of a man who needed a shave, some food, and sleep.

While he didn't think Bourne would object to his beard or to having dinner when he arrived, Paz opted for sleep.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

Mia sat on her bed, one leg tucked under her and other stretched out. Next to her was a file that had been brought over by a courier. She had expected the file on Paz Longoria and was not surprised to find out he was the man she had seen in the praça. She held his picture in between her fingers and stared at it.

If he was in Lisbon and had found her, why hadn't he tried anything? It was a question that plagued her all night, keeping her from sleeping.

Mia tucked a piece of hair behind her ears and began to fan the picture back and forth. She didn't tell Phillips about what she had seen, knowing that it would only upset him. Phillips was not one to be a short fuse, but Mia figured that given the time and the pressure, anyone would crack.

Like Abbott.

When she heard he had killed himself, Mia was sitting on stoop within the walls of the Castle of São Jorge. It was an unusually warm day for that time of year and Mia decided that she would do some sightseeing. She had seen to the monument countless times, but it was still her favorite.

The castle walls left a sense of what the castle used to be: bustling with people, the sounds of music filling the air. Now it was just an empty shell, standing quietly on the hill, overlooking the city of Lisbon. It was waiting for the day the hallways would be occupied only by royalty once again.

Her cell phone rang, the caller ID from Abbott's cell phone. She picked up the phone, like the countless times before, and said, "Hello" in a quiet voice.

She expected to hear the usual greeting, fill with bravado. "Mia, my darling girl, let's have a chat," Abbott would say.

Instead, it was another man. His voice deep with age, British, slow speaking. "Mia Campos?"

Her breath hitched in her throat. "Yes."

"My name is Aaron Phillips," said the voice. "I am handling you now."

The phone call ended and Mia rushed out of the castle, to the nearest newsstand. She barely heard the noises on the street as she ran down the winding roads made of cobblestone. All Mia was aware of what the sound of her heels slapping against the ground and the sound of her breathing.

She grabbed a newspaper and saw the front page. Below the headline, something having to do with a Jason Bourne was an article about the suicide of Ward Abbott.

"Are you going to buy that?" asked the newsstand owner in Portuguese. He tapped his foot against the cobblestone, looking annoyed.

Mia, startled, looked up and shook her head. She thrust the newspaper into his hands and stalked off. As she turned the corner, Mia grabbed the wall and leaned her body against it as she gathered her thoughts. Tears rimmed her eyes as she silently cursed Abbott. _That bastard_, she thought with venom. _That little bastard_.

Within a week, she met Aaron Phillips in person. He had come to Lisbon, out of convenience for her, and asked her to meet him in the Belém district. It was a café, famous its pastries, on Rua de Belém. He instructed her to sit towards the back of the café. Phillips would know what she looked like, based on her file.

As she waited in the nosy café, Mia wondered if this man would be like Abbott. While the man did have a list of faults, Abbott did care about her…to a degree. It was more than the other assets, which should have put her mind at ease. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him approaching. A tall man in a suit, carrying a tray of pastries and two cups of tea.

He set the tray down and sat down in the seat next to Mia. "I thought you'd like something to eat," he said, his voice crisp. He had light brown hair that was graying at the temples and light eyes. Strong features – especially his nose, which reminded Mia of a Roman emperor. "Aaron Phillips," he added as he extended his hand.

Mia took his hand and shook it. She watched him pour two packets of sugar into her tea, along with honey. Just how she liked it. She never bothered to ask how he had known.

Phillips had told Mia about the situation with Jason Bourne, the name she had seen in the paper and heard Abbott and Hirsch discuss on more than one occasion. "He's a bloody pain in the ass, if you ask me," remarked Phillips.

"Should I do something about it?" asked Mia.

He smiled, already knowing her reaction. It had been instilled in her, like he suspected. "No, no," Phillips replied as he drank some of his tea. "Jason Bourne is none of your concern. He's more than you can handle."

Mia had been offended by the comment, which Phillips saw immediately.

"It's not that you couldn't handle him, but I'd prefer if that you stayed out of that mess. He is a malfunctioning piece of equipment, Mia, and not worth your time."

Odd that Phillips had said that to her, since in recent weeks, he had said that name more than once. Particularly when she was given the task of taking care of Nicolette Parsons.

If Paz Longoria was in Lisbon, would Jason Bourne soon follow? Yes, he had fallen ten stories into the East River in the middle of winter, but there was no body.

If Phillips knew it or not, Jason Bourne was not dead…and he was probably working with the other asset.

All she needed to do was get his attention.

* * *

Paz had seen Bourne first.

He stood by the lockers, holding a magazine in one hand and the other shoved into the pocket of his jeans. When Paz saw the other asset, he kept a low profile, not wanting to alert anyone who may be nearby. It wasn't that he doubted Jason Bourne, since he had full confidence in his abilities, Paz was just being overly cautious.

He saw Jason looking at him, his eyes bright against his pale skin. The other asset walked over to him with a duffle bag over his shoulder, looking tired.

"You need a tan," said Paz, his voice low against the noises of the city.

Jason raised his brow, obviously not amused. He shifted the bag on his shoulder and looked around. "Is the area secure?"

"You mean did anyone follow me?" retorted Paz. He studied Bourne, finding it strange to be in such close contact with a man whom he was supposed to kill. "Yes, it's secure," he said finally.

"Good," breathed Jason.

They began to walk to the tram in silence. As they found seats towards the back exit of the tram, Paz said, "Have you had eaten yet?"

Jason shook his head as he sat down. He looked up at Paz. "Why?"

"I'm hungry. There's a restaurant up the street from the hostel," explained Paz as he looked at the passengers on the tram. He looked down, noticing the same action out of Bourne. He chuckled while thinking, Great minds think alike.

Jason nodded. "Do you mind if I drop my things off first?"

"Sure," said Paz. "Why not?"

Forty minutes later, Paz and Jason sat in a dimly light restaurant. Their waiter had just walked away, leaving two glasses of Tinta on the table.

"So this information you had to wait to tell me?" said Paz as he took the glass of wine to his lips. He took a sip. "What is it?"

Jason traced his fingertip against the edge of the glass. "She isn't just an asset. There's more to it."

"How much more?" asked Paz.

Jason looked around the restaurant before continuing. "When you first came into the program, were you a part of Treadstone or Blackbriar?"

"I was originally brought in as an operative for Treadstone," answered Paz. He took another sip of wine. "But at the last minute, they changed the format. I was carried over."

"Did they ever tell you why?"

"I never asked questions. I did my job and left the rest up to the handlers."

"Did you know about Conklin?"

"I did, but not much. He was murdered in Paris, correct?"

"After his murder, they brought in a new asset. Ward Abbott found her as an exchange student and offered her a job. A few weeks after I failed my mission in Marseilles, she was in New York, in the same training facility we were both brought to. Six months later, after I was off the grid, she went active," explained Jason. "Dr. Hirsch, Abbott – they took a civilian and made her into one of us."

Paz arched his brow, unsure of what Jason was telling him. "But why?"

"She would be less detectable, since she was a woman," said Jason, his voice trailing off, realization hitting him. "You've seen her, haven't you?"

Paz shrugged his shoulders. "Only for a moment," replied Paz as he leaned back into his chair.

"And?"

As Paz was about to reply, a waiter came over with another bottle of wine. "This is for you," said the waiter as he uncorked the bottle.

Jason and Paz stared at each other, then the waiter. "We didn't order another bottle," Jason said.

"A gift from an admirer," said the waiter as he began to pour the glasses anew. "Oh," he remembered and dug a piece of paper out of his apron. "This is also for you."

Paz grabbed the piece of paper and torn it open, not noticing the waiter eyeballing him as he set down the bottle on table. "Who gave you this," he asked roughly.

The waiter set down a glass in front of Paz. "The young woman at the bar…" he turned his head, perplexed. "Well she's gone now." He placed the other glass in front of Jason.

Jason grabbed the piece of paper from Paz, who let out a sound of protest. "What did she look like?"

"Brown hair," answered the waiter and raised his hand. "So high. Light eyes…I think she was wearing a dress…"

As the waiter babbled on about what he did or didn't see, Jason unfolded the note and saw neatly typed letters on stark white paper. Of course she would type it. She didn't want to leave a trail for someone other than Jason and Paz to follow.

_Kremlin. I'll find you._

"Don't you pay attention?" snapped Paz, his voice interrupting Jason's thoughts.

Jason looked up at the nervous waiter. "Excuse me, have you heard of Kremlin?"

"Yes," stammered the waiter. "It's a club on Rua das Escadinhas da Praia."

Taking out his wallet, Jason threw money onto the table, probably more than needed, and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair. Paz followed suit, confused. "Thanks," said Jason as they headed towards the door, the cool night air and sounds of Lisbon greeting them.

"Kremlin?" asked Paz as he followed Jason. "She wants to go club hopping with us?"

Jason's nostrils flared, not amused. "No," he hissed. "She wants to meet with us and she wants to do it in a public place."

"And a club packed with drunken kids is the perfect place to do it?" Paz shook his head. "Maybe she is not as good of an asset as her handlers thought."

Jason shook his head as he attempted to hail a taxi. "No," he said. "She's better. It's the perfect place to stage a meeting. It's Saturday night and more likely than not, it will be packed. If she needs to evade us, she can do it easily."

Finally a taxi pulled up to the curb. Jason slid into the backseat and told the driver were to go as Paz shut the car door behind him.

"How do you know that she isn't working with someone?" asked Paz in a low voice. "With another asset?"

Jason looked out the window. "No one else knows about her," Jason said, his voice fading. "Besides, we always work alone."

The air was thick with stillness before Paz said, "I know that you're thinking that you need to rescue her, but there is a possibility that she doesn't want to be rescued." He began to pick at the material of the arm rest. "After all, she killed your friend."

"Not by choice," reminded Jason. "What they did wasn't right. We asked for this, she didn't."

Paz was silenced. Jason watched the asset musing from across the backseat, watching his eyes brighten and his face tense up. He was sure that he had done the same thing, something Marie always teased him about.

_You're so serious, Jason. Smile for just a moment_, she would say. For a moment, he saw her, smiling. Marie was holding that crappy camera she had picked up in a flea market. _Smile for me? _She moved her face, showing more of it. It was still the same, angular and pretty. Her brown eyes were bright, partially covered by her long hair. _Please?_

Jason blinked. She was gone, something he had to keep reminding himself. She was gone, like Nicky. That's why he was in a cab with Paz – they were here for almost the same reasons. Paz to clear his name of a crime he did not commit and Jason to find the criminals and end this thing once and for all.

Except in this case, he was starting to feel guilty about it. In other circumstances, Jason would have shot the asset, and then been back on a plane to Washington, DC within a day. But Dr. Hirsch brought new light on everything.

"She had a choice," replied Paz as he turned towards Jason. "When she met Abbott, she could have ignored him and walked away."

Jason shook his head. "Her life was over from the moment Abbott had her name. She had no choice."

"So you're going to give her one?" It wasn't a question.

Jason shrugged. "If she wants one."

"And if she doesn't," asked Paz as he leaned back into the worn leather of the seat. "Will you do what's necessary?"

Jason nodded. The taxi had stopped and the driver turned around announcing their arrival. He stuck out one grubby hand, waiting for his payment. Paz took out a few euros as they slid out of the taxi.

Outside, they could hear the music thumping through the walls of the club. A line of people hugged the building, waiting to be let in; men dressed up in slacks and form fitting shirts and girls in short skirts and dresses, teetering on high heels.

"I guess this is it," Paz observed. He smirked as a few girls strutted by him, giggling.

Jason rolled his eyes and elbowed him in the side. "We're not here to get you laid," he snapped as he walked towards the end of the line, which was around the corner.

"Chill amigo," said Paz as he straightened his jacket. "I was blending in."

Jason shot him a doubtful look as he got in line.

Twenty minutes and fifteen euro a piece, Jason and Paz entered the club. The club, lit up with strobe and colored lights, was packed with dancing bodies holding glasses of alcohol. The house music was obscenely loud, making Jason's ears pulse.

"Well," yelled Paz over the music. "Now what?"

Jason looked around, trying to focus on the patron's faces in the lighting effects. "We split up," he said after a moment.

Paz nodded and much to Jason's chagrin made his way towards the bar. Jason rolled his eyes as he went the opposite way, through the dance floor. He nudged past anonymous faces in hopes of finding her in the sea of people.

The music changed and the crowd grew rowdy. A young couple who were too busy kissing to notice Jason knocked themselves into him. He pushed them away and squeezed passed a group of young women dancing when he felt someone watching him through the crowd.

He turned his head, scanning the club until he saw her.

Standing against a pillar near the dance floor, was a young woman holding a drink. Like many of the other female clubgoers, she wore a form fitting black dress and dangerously high heels. Her dark hair was perfectly tousled and her eyes were accentuated by impeccably applied with make-up.

Undoubtedly, this was Mia Campos.

Jason watched Mia set her drink down, which was clearly for show, and cocked her head as she gazed back at him, giving him a throughout once over.

The DJ shouted into his microphone and the music changed again. The crowd around the two assets went wild as they poured onto the dance floor for the next set. The group of women stepped in front of Jason, talking loudly as they passed. Jason lifted his head above the crowd, hoping to keep eye contact with the female asset.

When the last girl passed, Jason saw that Mia had disappeared into the haze of strobe lights and dancing bodies. He silently cursed himself as he pushed through the crowd to get to where he had first stopped Mia. As he neared the pillar, he felt a finger tap him on the shoulder.

Jason turned his head to find Mia standing within his reach with a smirk on her face.

Mia crooked her finger at him as she began making her way to the center of the dance floor. Jason followed, not sure of what to make of this encounter. He saw her move her body to the music and every so often glance over her shoulder to make sure that he was behind her.

_What have I gotten myself into?_Jason wondered to himself as he followed her. He found himself right behind her, close enough to touch the material of her dress.

The female asset turned around and said over the music, "You're a hard man to find, Jason Bourne." Without waiting for his reply, she began to dance. Jason moved up behind her and caught the mischievous smile flash across her lips. "But not too hard."

"I should say the same about you," Jason said as he tried to keep up with her. "It's almost like you don't exist."

Mia kept dancing. "Didn't you know?" she said. "I don't." She spun around and moved against Jason, slinging an arm around his neck.

"What do you want from me?" Jason yelled over the music. He watched her shimmy against him, forcing him to dance with her in order to draw attention from them.

Mia turned away from him, shaking her hips against his body. "I want what everyone wants," she said, cryptically.

"Oh?" Jason replied as he spun her around and pulled Mia close to him. "And what's that?"

She contemplated him for a moment and moved her face close to his. Jason could feel her breath against his skin, her lips nearly caressing his ear lobe, the smell of her perfume

"I want answers," she whispered. He could feel her smiling. "Tomorrow. Your friend will know where to find me. He's done it before."

Before Jason could respond, she had vanished into the crowd. He looked around the floor, pushing passed patrons and young women around who were wearing similar dresses. The song changed tempo and he gave up.

Another hand tapped him on the shoulder. Jason spun around and saw Paz standing himself.

"Where the hell were you?" he yelled, furious.

Paz held up both hands. "I was at the bar."

"I'm sure you were," he snapped. Jason took in a deep breath and motioned with his head to leave. "Come on, I'll tell you what happened outside."

The assets made their retreat to the street, one annoyed and the other happy that he had enough time to get a few shots at the bar.

She watched them leave as she danced with a man who was close enough to her age. Mia Campos smiled to herself as she watched Jason Bourne exit the building.

* * *

_Hamburg, Germany_

His phone rang, interrupting his morning coffee. With a snort, he plucked his cell phone off the table and opened it without looking. "Hello?"

"We have a problem," said Phillips's voice.

He looked at his watch and let out a breath. "What type of problem?" He went to raise his coffee cup to his lips.

"We might have been found out and I need you to take care of her," warned Phillips. "I am sending you information. Check your email. A plane ticket will arrive by carrier courier later this afternoon and your flight leaves at 1700 hours."

He let the coffee run down his throat, warming him.

"Do you understand?"

"Ja," he said, sounding annoyed. "I will call you when I land."

"No," snapped Phillips, his voice rising in anger. "You will call me when it's done."

The line went dead, leaving him to go back to his coffee in peace.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

_Langley, Virginia_

Cronin was surprised to see that Pamela was still in her office. Or maybe he wasn't so surprised. She was standing over her desk, her coat draped over one arm, flipping through that file. That file she wouldn't let Tom see, nor would she talk about it. And Cronin didn't bother to ask.

However, they needed to be at the White House within the next twenty minutes and traffic on the Beltway was going to be a nightmare.

She looked up and he waved, tapping his watch. Pamela held up her hand and nodded. She closed the file and held it in her hand as she exited her office.

"Nervous?" asked Cronin as they walked to the elevators.

Pamela shook her head and gave him a smile. "Not really," she replied. "It's just another day on the job." She waited for the elevator doors to close. "Heard from Bourne lately?"

"Nothing yet, but that's probably a good thing," responded Cronin as he smirked. "Knowing him," he added.

Pamela let out a chuckle as the elevator doors opened to the lobby. They hurried to the sedan that was waiting for them on the curb. As she slid into the back seat, Pamela held out the file. "Take this," she said.

Cronin shut the car door and looked at her. Skeptical, he took the file and began to open it until Pamela's hand stopped him. He looked up and saw her staring at him. He knew that look. The serious one she used when she was being grave and overly cautious.

"I want you to make sure that Jason can get this once he comes back," she said.

The confidence she had in that man was amazing. Cronin knew better than to argue with her, but this he had to ask. "Why?"

"I have my reasons," she said as the car got onto the Beltway.

* * *

_Lisbon, Portugal_

Mia stood in the very same praça where she first came into contact with Paz. Gone were the dramatic make up and the black dress that left little to the imagination, replaced with a pair of jeans tucked into boots and a long sleeved shirt under a jacket. Concealed within the pockets of her jacket was a gun, enough money to get her out of the country, and a passport that Phillips didn't know she had. It had been given to her by Abbott.

"Just in case," he said as he slipped her the Lithuanian passport over dinner.

She arched her brow and opened the red passport and saw her picture, though her name was Milda Simoneit, born January 21, 1981. "Just in case?"

Abbott lifted the wine glass to his lips and mumbled, "Just in case."

Now she understood what he had meant. Just in case if everything went to shit, she had a way out.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of the jacket and let out a breath. Mia glanced around the praça, watching the people – waiting.

On the other side of the praça, stood Jason Bourne and Paz. They were seated, each holding newspapers to conceal their faces. Jason saw her from a distance, standing by a hot peanut vendor.

"That's her," Paz sighed as he turned the page of the newspaper.

Jason nodded as he studied the female asset. She looked different in daylight – younger than he had expected. She didn't have Marie's angular face or Nicky's pretty girl-next-door features. Her nose was stronger than Nicky's but not like Marie's. She had full lips that seemed to be in a permanent pout and quickness to her eyes. Everything about Mia seemed to fit her.

Jason knew that because of her height and small frame, she was a fast runner. Her body was not weak and he was pretty sure that she could hold her own in hand-to-hand combat. She was younger, perhaps faster than he. While Jason could pack a punch, it would be her quick movements that would keep her in the fight.

He saw her staring at him, her eyes flickering with recognition. Instead of causing a commotion, Mia stood still for a moment, taking him in, and then began to walk out of the praça.

"What do you want to do?" asked Paz as he glanced over his shoulder, eyeing Mia for a moment, then turning back to Bourne.

"We follow her," he said as he threw down the paper and stood up all in one movement. As he began to walk across the praça, Paz followed alongside of him.

They walked through Baixa, making sure not to tail Mia too closely. As Mia wove through the crowd, Jason saw her turn her head to make sure that he and Paz were still following her. As they walked further away from the Baixa district and into Alfama, Jason realized that she was taking them to a secluded place; a place she knew would be safe for them to talk.

As they walked uphill, Jason saw the two towers of the Santa Maria Maior de Lisboa at the peak of the hill. He turned to Paz, who had stopped walking. "What are you doing?" asked Jason as he stopped. He motioned to Mia, who had disappeared over the hill. "She wants us to follow her."

"So she can ambush us?" snapped Paz. "I don't think so," he said as he began to turn back down the hill.

Jason began to follow him. "There are two of us and one of her," reminded Jason. He grabbed Paz's arm and pulled him back. "Paz."

"What if she has people waiting?"

"We always work alone," said Jason, letting go of Paz's arm.

Paz moved his finger, pointing at himself and Jason. "We're working together," he reminded the other asset.

"Not by choice," grumbled Jason. He shook his head. "Besides, why would she take the risk of seeking us out, not once, but twice only to kill us as soon she got us alone? Doesn't that seem strange to you?"

Paz began to think about it. He stared at the cathedral, then Bourne. "No," he grunted before turning on his heel.

Jason grabbed him again, this time holding his arm tighter. His face darkened as he growled, "We're in this together – all three of us – whether you like it or not. And you are coming with me."

"Or what?"

"Or you're on your own," hissed Jason.

Paz brushed Jason off him and straightened his jacket. "Fine," he grumbled as he followed Jason up the hill.

As they reached the entrance of the cathedral, they decided that they would spilt up as they entered. It would be easy to overtake her in case if Mia decided to trap them.

In the Cathedral, they heard the echoing of footsteps from tourists and patrons of the church. Behind the two men, Mia sat in the pew. The expression on her face was hard, controlled, and had seen too much. She seemingly ignored them as they drew closer to her pew, causing Paz to reach down to his pant leg to pull out his gun.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Bourne already had his gun out – loaded and ready and low enough so that none of the worshippers could see it.

Paz slid into the pew behind her and sat down, waiting for the cathedral to empty.

One by one, noisy children, curious tourists, and church-goers left the cathedral. Only the young woman stayed behind, leaving Paz and Jason alone with her.

Paz bit his lip as cocked hammer of the gun, listening to the click echo against the Romanesque architecture. Checking the perimeter, he thought to himself that Bourne's plan of following this female asset was insane.

Without warning, Mia swung around, the barrel of her gun pressed against his forehead. Her finger was on the trigger, ready to shoot. Paz felt the cold metal against his skin, pressing down hard enough to cause a bit of pain.

"Voy loco…" he whispered. "Voy muy loco."

"If I were you, I wouldn't call the person with a gun to your skull crazy," Mia replied, her eyes blazing in fury. "It's bad manners."

Suddenly, Paz heard another click. In the dim light was Jason's silhouette to the side of Mia, his gun raised to her back. If he did end up firing his gun, the bullet would enter her shoulder an exit out her chest, making the wound fatal.

Paz saw Mia's expression drop, bringing him some joy. He looked at Jason and laughed, "Thanks."

Jason shrugged before saying, "Are you Mia Campos?"

Mia turned her head enough to see Jason out of the corner of her eye. She studied him, and then turned back to Paz, not answering.

Jason poked her with the barrel of his gun. "I asked you a question," he growled.

She looked annoyed.

Paz shrugged and said, "I would answer him if I were you."

Finally she nodded.

"Well, there you have it," said Paz to Jason. He studied Mia, who was still staring at him. "I thought you would have been a bit older."

Mia smirked and said, "Funny, I thought he would have been younger." She motioned her head at Jason.

"Enough," snapped Jason.

Mia rolled her eyes and asked, "You found me. How?"

"If I may," Paz interjected. He cleared his throat while eyeing the gun pressed against his skin. "I tapped your handler's phone line and was able to trace your number back to Lisbon. And I figured you would stick to major tourist epicenters. Lots of people and if you needed to, you could bend in and vanish into thin air." He shrugged. "It wasn't that hard."

Mia's face dropped. "Does Aaron know?"

"Aaron?" asked Paz and Jason. They looked at each other.

"Aaron Phillips?" questioned Jason, feeling panic set in.

Mia nodded. "He's my handler – Daniels's replacement for the Madrid office," she replied. She turned to Jason and asked, "Why?"

Jason didn't answer. Instead he reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone.

* * *

_Washington, DC_

Cronin heard his phone ringing as the sedan came to a stop outside of the gates. Secret Service ordered them out of the car, to inspect it. As Cronin stepped out of the sedan, he answered his phone.

"Cronin," he said as he saw Pamela get out on the other side. He heard echoing and static on the other end. "Hello?" Cronin looked at the caller ID and saw the number. "Jason?"

A crackle, then he heard Jason's voice clearly. "Something's wrong," said the asset, his voice sounding grave.

"What's wrong?" asked Cronin, noticing that Pamela was looking at him.

"Aaron Phillips," said Jason as the line began to crackle again.

Cronin walked away from the car, trying to get better reception. "What about him?"

"Mia's…handler…he…Blackbriar…," Jason's voice echoed through the speaker.

Cronin arched his brow, trying to understand Jason. "What?"

"Aaron Phillips is a part of Blackbriar," said the asset's voice, coming in more clearly. "He's handling Mia."

Cronin forgot to breathe for a moment. "Phillips? Are you sure?"

"I have her here…with Paz. She just told us," Jason replied. "Where's Pam?"

Cronin looked at his partner, seeing her face. She was watching him, trying to piece together the conversation he was having. Pamela smiled at him, strands of her blonde hair being tossed over her face. Behind her, he saw something shining.

Was it the tip of the Washington Monument?

Suddenly a wave of panic over took Cronin as he yelled, "Pam! Pam!" over the sound of two gunshots.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

_Lisbon, Portugal_

Jason wasn't sure if the gunshots were on his end or Cronin's. Suddenly, he heard Mia yell as she ducked below the pew. Paz was slumped over, his eyes glazing at Jason, hollow and lifeless.

The gore that was shattered against the ancient wood made Jason realize that Paz was dead.

Jason looked at Mia, who had gotten to her feet, looking to him for answers.

Realization hit Jason quickly. He grabbed Mia by the arm and pulled her to the ground just as another shot, meant for her, rang out. Holding her close, Jason protected her from the onslaught of bullets that echoed within the cathedral. He could feel her heart slamming against her ribcage and the sound of her breathing against his ear.

Mia buried her head into his shoulder as her hands re-loaded her gun by his belly. When the shooter ran out of bullets, she looked up at Jason, waiting for his move. Mia was calm, collected – just like Jason had expected.

Without a word, Jason pulled her to her feet and grabbed her wrist. They ran across the pews as a trail of bullets followed behind their feet. Ducking into the shadows, Jason and Mia found themselves pushed up against a pillar. She looked at him; their faces mere inches apart and asked, "One of yours?"

"No," said Jason as he grabbed her gun in exchange for his own. "Reload this." He eyed the nearest exit of the cathedral, and then heard a click, realizing that Mia had finished loading the gun. Jason raised a brow.

Mia shrugged. "Practice," she replied as if it was nothing.

Jason grabbed her by the wrist before Mia had the opportunity to say another word and ran towards the nearest exit. Both of them kept low, trying to evade the gunfire. He stopped behind another pillar, keeping Mia pressed under his own body. "We need to get to the nearest railway station," Jason said in a low voice.

"Tram 28 is out that door, off to the right. We'll need to go through a street market and down onto Largo da Sé," whispered Mia. She looked up at him. "However, we can go to the back of the street market, towards Castle of São Jorge. It might throw them off."

Before Jason could reply, they heard the wail of sirens in the distance. "It's your city…your call," said Jason as he let go of Mia's wrist.

He followed her to the back exit, their footsteps echoing against the aged stones. She pushed the wooden door open, surprising a group of tourists, and motioned for Jason to follow her to the right. They hit the muddy ground as the front doors of the cathedral opened, sending the vibrations onto the other side of the structure.

Soon, their heels were slapping against the damp pavement as they entered the street market. Jason and Mia maneuvered their way through the crowded street. Vendors were yelling at them, wanting business. Jason pushed an older man out of his way, sending the man's beads spilling onto the pavement. He glanced down for a moment, and then looked up to realize Mia was gone.

Jason swore under his breath and hopped over a counter of one of the vendors. They shouted at him in Portuguese as the strange man ran through the array of t-shirts, jewelry, designer knock offs, and shoes. In a mirror, Jason saw the reflection of two men wearing black suits.

Jason dove under a woman's cheap fold-out chair, sending her to the floor. She let out a scream as his elbow collided with the metal frame. Jason let out a groan as he brought himself to his knees.

A hand touched his shoulder, roughly grabbing his sweater. Jason grabbed the arm and pulled the attached body over the counter, sending mirrors to the floor. The glass shattered against the pavement, a few shards cut into Jason's hands. A mass of dark brown hair covered his eyes.

Jason pushed it off his face and saw Mia hovering over him, an annoyed expression overcoming her face. Without a word, she jumped to her feet and gave Jason a hand up.

"I saw two agents," said Jason as they ran out of the vendor's tent. He shook his hand, hearing the pieces of glass falling to the ground and shattering.

Mia nodded as she pushed him down a corridor of vendors, towards a brick wall. "Follow me," she replied.

Jason ran alongside her, narrowly losing his footing on the pavement. She caught him by the arm and pulled him up. As they neared the brick wall, a gunshot went off, sending people at the street market into a frenzy. Bullets meant for them, people were screaming, the sound of objects falling to the ground. Jason dug his fingers into the low wall and hopped over, not expected the ten foot fall.

When he did land, pain shot up his legs and into his lower back. Jason let out a strangled cry as he stumbled forward, sending his gun onto the sidewalk.

Another gunshot.

Mia landed a few feet away from him, but didn't have the luck of landing on her feet. She fell backwards and landed on her rump. The sharp pain of bruises muscles and skin erupted in her lower back. Quickly, the younger operative pulled herself up, ignoring the pain, and motioned Jason to follow her over a small hill.

They ran for a good two minutes before two sedans pulled up at the bottom of hill, blocking all traffic. As the doors flew open, Jason grabbed Mia by the waist and pulled her into an alleyway. Mia's foot dislodged a potted plant from a low step and sent it crashing onto the cobblestone. Jason shot her a disapproving look, one that an older brother might give his sister.

Instead of speaking, he began to push various doors, trying to see if they were unlocked. Mia followed him with her Polish WIST-94 in hand, ready to shoot. She glanced behind her, checking to see if the agents were onto them yet.

In the distance, there were more sirens piercing the air. A warning – whoever had shot Paz was now after them and with reinforcements.

Jason thrust his shoulder against a green door and found that the flimsy wood creaked open under his weight. He held the door open, letting Mia pass. Instead of taking off down the dark corridor, she waited for him as he placed a pair of clippers into the latch.

Footsteps.

Some type of agency-issued loafer was slapping against the cobblestones. Jason and Mia stood still, waiting.

"Tente essa porta!" yelled an agent.

The sound of agents trying to force open doors filled the alleyway. Jason touched Mia's arm with his fingers, feeling the fabric of her jacket, and stared her down, his blue eyes blazing. She stared back with a knowing glint in her eye.

Without another word, they walked down the corridor before they found a door that was ajar. Mia slipped inside soundlessly because of her small frame. Jason wrapped his hand around the wooden door and pushed it open, slowly.

It creaked.

Both assets held their breath.

"Você ouviu aquele?"

The footsteps came back to the door. The door moved, as someone pushed his shoulder against it. The clippers whined under the weight

"Alguém travou a porta!"

A harder push, followed by a kick. The door swung open, sending potted plants and the clippers flying.

Jason pulled his Sig out and shot, hitting one agent in the shoulder. The agent flew backwards, onto the pavement. He rolled to his side and moaned.

A bullet nicked the door frame, next to Jason's head, sending splitters of wood flying. He ducked as he dove into the house and slammed the door shut. Looking around for something to blockade the door, Jason saw a bookshelf in the low light of what appeared to be a laundry room.

"Help me," Jason's voice boomed as he grabbed the edges of the shelf.

Mia grabbed the other edge and helped him push it against the door. Together, they charged up the stairs and burst into a sunny living room. Jason held out his arm, stopping Mia in her tracks. He listened.

No voices. Only the sound of a leaking sink.

Jason motioned her to follow him. They turned the corner and found themselves in a hallway lined with photographs and paintings. The hallway was wood paneled, well-taken care of and probably a few centuries old.

Towards the back of the hallway was a bedroom with a large picture window. They hurried to the room as the agents got past the bookcase and were steps away from going up the basement stairs.

Mia went for the window, breaking the glass with her gun, as Jason locked the door behind them. She poked her head out to see how far the drop to the street was. She saw a garbage truck coming around the corner. "Come on!" she yelled, catching the other asset's attention.

He came to the window and was helping her onto the sill when bullets hit the door and entered the room. Mia pushed Jason as hard as she could before tumbling out the window as the bullets flew overhead. In the split second she fell, she heard Jason's surprised yell, followed by her body hitting heaps of plastic bags.

* * *

He was squatting, waiting for the response of the people below. Chaos, mayhem, perfection. Manheim smiled to himself as he carefully put away his gun and picked up shell casings. He looked over the ledge, seeing Secret Service agents swarming the scene.

Like scavengers to a dead carcass.

Manheim took out his binoculars and zoomed in on the scene below.

One the bullets had hit the man in the shoulder, but it hadn't stopped him from hobbling over to the other side of the car. His face looked stricken with a mixture of pain and emotion as he collapsed next to the intended target.

The gore before did not seem to faze the man. Instead, he scooped the target into his arms, ignoring the brain matter and blood that matted her long blonde hair, and cried into her cheek.

Manheim smiled as he picked up his belongings and walked to the doorway that leading back to the stairwell. He had two minutes before the police arrived and another five before someone figured out where the shots were coming from. In those seven minutes, Manheim could walk to the Federal Triangle or Smithsonian metro centers, disappearing into thin air.

He plucked his cell phone out of his pocket and pressed send.

"It's done?" asked Aaron Phillips.

Manheim let out a content sigh. "It's done."

"Are you sure she's dead?"

"Yes," Manheim said as he opened the side entrance, feeling a gust of wind hitting his face. "Pamela Landy is dead."


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

_Lisbon, Portugal_

Jason's hand grabbed her by the seat of her pants, causing a shock wave of white hot pain to pierce her body. As the garbage truck moved along the windy streets, Jason let go of her and rolled Mia onto her back. She let out a strangled cry and closed her eyes.

"Lie still," he said. Jason straddled her and slowly opened up the right side of her jacket. He heard Mia's sharp intake of breath. Gingerly, his fingers rolled the material of her top up over her belly button. On the pale, taut skin was jagged wound caused by a bullet. As he probed the wound with his fingers, Jason could feel the bullet nestled in her tissue.

Mia nodded as she raised her head. "Bad?"

"It'll need stitches," replied Jason, meeting her eyes. He pressed his hand against the wound, trying to slow the blood flow.

Mia bit her lip and lay back down. For a while, they sprawled in the back of garbage truck in silence. Mia winced as Jason's hand pressed down as they went over a bump in the road. "Do you have a plan?" she asked her voice husky with pain.

"We are leaving Lisbon," stated Jason. "Which way is Santa Apolónia Station?"

Mia pointed. "That way. It's only a few blocks."

"There is a train leaving in 15 minutes," he said. "Can we get there in enough time?"

Mia nodded. "I brought along another passport. Something Ward Abbott gave me…" her voice trailed off as if she said too much.

"He was preparing you for the day they turned on you," Jason said bitterly.

Mia cocked her head, looking at him. "They turned on me the day they knew I existed."

Jason was silent, hearing her words vibrate within him. "Where is the passport?" Jason asked.

Mia shifted against the plastic bags and let out a groan. "In my jacket," she replied. "Why are you doing this? Helping me?"

"This isn't the time to talk about it," snapped Jason as he hoisted her to her feet. They were a block from Santa Apolónia Station. In order to make sure that the area was secure enough for them to board a train; they would need to go through one of the main entrances.

The truck came to a halt at a stoplight, and Jason helped Mia off the truck. She fell against him, steadying her balance before standing upright. As they walked to the station, Jason caught a glance at her now ashen face and began to think of what he had in the bag he stashed in one of the lockers.

While Paz thought he was the first to see Jason, it wasn't true. Jason's train had arrived early and he purposely had given the deceased asset the wrong time of arrival. With those ten minutes, Jason had gotten a locker and stashed another bag inside of it. It had all he needed to keep moving in case things went wrong.

Of course they would. He knew it, even Pamela Landy knew it. It was the way these things worked out. Prepare for the worst.

The bag had an extra change of clothes, money, passports – one Canadian and the other British, and a medical kit.

"What are you thinking?" Mia asked as she followed him across the cobblestones.

"I stashed a bag in one of the lockers," Jason explained as they crossed the street and ducked into the station. "It has open-ended tickets, money, passports and a first aid kit – so we can get that taken care of." Jason motioned to her wound.

"Always thinking…" Mia began to quip as she voice trailed off.

Jason looked up at her, and then followed her stare.

Aaron Phillips stood in the center of the station, surrounded by a team of agents. He was barking orders and gesturing for his team to split up and search the perimeter.

For them.

Jason grabbed Mia by the elbow and hurried her to the lockers, both of them keeping their heads down. As they neared the locker in question, Jason pulled out a key to the padlock. He stood in front of Mia, blocking her face from view. "How many agents?"

"Ten," Mia replied as she leaned against the lockers. She swallowed audibly.

Jason looked up and saw her features tense with pain. "Can you make it to the train?" he asked as he slid the padlock off the hinges of the locker and opened the door.

Mia wrinkled her nose in annoyance. Despite the fact that her head was spinning, she had been through similar situations before.

On one of her assignments, she had received a concussion from the man she was sent to kill. He kicked her in the head and for a moment, she blacked out. As the world came back to Mia, she managed to fire multiple rounds into her target's body before diving off his balcony into the waters of Venice. She swam for two miles to get to the safe house.

There, she fell on top of a bed and lay there for two days before waking up with a splitting headache. Abbott had been frantic and Zorn had been smug when he saw her stroll into Abbott's office.

If Mia could handle that, she could handle this. "I'm fine," she answered as Jason pulled the bag out and handed it to her. He pulled out a piece of cloth and wiped down the locker before tossing that and the padlock into his pocket.

She had only just met him, but yet she trusted him. After all, he had come all this way and hadn't tried to kill her yet. Mia had come to the sickening realization of how serious the situation was as they had excited the cathedral, leaving Paz's corpse behind.

When Phillips called her about Paz, Mia knew something was terribly wrong. The assault in the cathedral only cemented her fears. As she felt Jason grab her and pull her to safety, she knew that the game had changed.

She used to be the well-kept secret, but even the well-kept secrets get told eventually.

The locker slammed shut, snapping Mia out of reverie. "Let's go," said Jason as he grabbed the bag from her hands and began to walk towards the trains.

She followed him, keeping her head down. The pain in her side intensified with each step. Mia inhaled deeply and exhaled, willing the throbbing to pass.

To her left was Phillips with two men, stalking the station with each step. They side-stepped and moved away from her and Jason.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't turn around."

Mia nodded. "This place is swarming with agents."

"I know."

Mia glanced up and saw Jason staring down at her, making her uncomfortable.

"The train is leaving in a few minutes for Madrid," stated Jason. He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. They continued across the station, keeping their heads down and dodging behind fellow patrons.

"Madrid?"

Jason nodded.

"Large tourist epicenter…easy to evade detection," Mia whispered. "Smart," she gasped as she put her hand to her side. Mia looked down as she felt blood saturating her hand. "That's just great," she hissed.

Jason looked down and furrowed his brow at her injury.

Out of the corner of his eye, an agent was coming towards them. There were only a few feet between them and the train. If they ran, it would attract attention – the last thing they needed.

As the agent drew closer, craning his head around to see who was in the busy station, Jason pulled Mia to him, cupping the base of her head. He lowered his head, blocking the side of her face and whispered into her ear, "Keep your head down." Jason felt her breath against his neck as she complied.

Jason glanced up, eyeballing another agent walking by them. In his head, he counted how many paces away the agent was from them and how quickly they could escape to the train if spotted.

Instead, the agent kept walking, not even giving them a second glance.

After the agent was a few paces away, Jason made his move. "Follow me," he said as he grabbed Mia by the wrist and began to hurry through the station. Mia stumbled behind him and Jason hoisted her up, forgetting about her injury for a moment. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to him as they neared the train. Jason took out the tickets he had purchased, Mia stood by his side, holding her side.

She pressed down on the wound, gritting her teeth. Her cheeks felt flushed, most likely from the wound, and the rest of her felt cold. Mia shook her head, trying to stay alert. In the haze of the pain, Mia saw Phillips, his eyes directly on her.

He looked calm. So calm that it made things worse. His eyes were glaring, showing her how murderous he was. She was still alive and there was almost nothing he could do about it. For now.

"Mia."

She looked up at Jason as he boarded the train. His hand was outstretched, waiting for her to take it.

"Let's go."

Gulping, Mia slipped her hand into Jason's palm and let him help her onto the train.

* * *

It was a blur to her as Jason guided Mia to the train compartment. She staggered to the worn leather seat and collapsed with a groan, clutching her side.

She heard Jason locking the door and pulling the curtains over the small windows that looked out to the corridor. He hurried across the compartment and closed the curtains over the windows, only leaving the overhead light to illuminate the room.

The train whistle blew and the train lurched as it disembark out of the station. The conductor made announcements over the speakers in Portuguese and Spanish, telling his passengers the rules of the train. As he prattled on, Jason crouched in front of her.

He gently moved her hand away from her wound. She flinched. "I need to see it," said Jason, his voice low. He glanced up at her, his face darkened by the shitty light above. "I won't hurt you."

Mia moved her hand away, slowly, and winced as the blood began to flow again. She bit her lip as Jason inspected the wound, trying not to scream as his fingertips touched the sensitive skin. "Ouch…" she whispered.

The train began to move, the wheels whining as they pulled out of the station.

"Okay," Jason said. "I'll need to remove the bullet." He began to open the bag, taking out a small cosmetics case. Inside was iodine, rubbing alcohol, a sterile needle, monofilament suturing thread, bandages, but nothing to numb her. He set the case down next to Mia and took off his belt. "Bite down on this if you need to," he offered as he handed the belt to her.

Mia took the belt from him. "No local," she asked as she watched Jason take out a Swiss army knife.

"Sorry," apologized Jason as he opened the knife. "I packed in a hurry." She saw the twinkle in his eye.

Mia smirked. "Mr. Bourne has a sense of humor," she mumbled. The beating of her heart filled her ears as she lay across the seat. "Just get it over with," she said as she brought the belt up to her mouth. Mia made a face as the taste of leather filled her mouth.

"I'm going to clean my hands first," Jason said while reaching for the plastic bottle of rubbing alcohol. Mia saw the grimace on his face as the liquid made contact with the cuts on his hands.

Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the ceiling of the compartment they were in. She began to count the number of holes in the ceiling. It was game she used to play when she was bored.

_One…two…three…_

Jason's fingers began to probe the wound against. Mia let out a groan when he applied pressure to the bullet embedded in her flesh. She steadied herself when the cool surface of the knife touched her skin.

_Four…five…six…_

With a sudden jerk, Mia saw stars. She bit down on Jason's belt and let out a muffled scream of pain. Balling her fists, Mia stayed as still as possible as the knife dug the bullet out of her body. Another jerk caused tears to well up in Mia's eyes. She couldn't look at Jason, afraid that she would take the belt out of her mouth and beg him to stop. Instead, she kept counting.

_Seven…eight…nine…_

It was an eternity before Jason managed to get the knife to hook the blunt end of the bullet. "Just hold still," Jason whispered.

_Twenty-six…twenty-seven…twenty-eight…_

The bullet scraped against her skin as Jason eased the piece of metal out of her skin. "It's out," he whispered, dropped the items in his hand onto the ground and grabbed a bandage to stop the bleeding.

Mia spit the belt out of her mouth and let out a ragged sigh of relief. She opened her eyes and saw Jason dabbed at the wound. "Thanks," she croaked.

Jason only shrugged. "It was nothing," he replied as he reached for the case with his free hand.

Without a word, Mia put her hand on the bandage so Jason could start threading the needle. Their hands briefly made contact, causing both assets to flush. "Have you done this before?" Mia finally asked.

"Stitches?" Jason said as he concentrated on needle. "Once or twice, but it was on myself."

Mia nodded. "That's very reassuring, Mr. Bourne."

"Jason," he said as he worked on stitching up the wound. "Just Jason."

Mia exhaled as the needle pushed threw her skin. "Okay…" she gasped. "Jason." She continued to count until Jason was finished.

As he gently placed the bandage over her wound, Jason asked, "How many holes were there?" He glanced up to see Mia's perplexed expression. "In the ceiling…"

"I lost count when you started stitching me up," she answered honestly.

An awkward silence settled in as Jason began to clean up the bloodied bandages. Mia closed her eyes as her body eased into the seat. The train is moving under them, taking the assets further from Lisbon.

_Home._

Or the closest to it.

"So why are you here?" Mia asked. "It's obviously not to kill me. Otherwise, you would have let me get shot."

Jason remained silent as he packed away the first aid kit.

Mia propped herself up, wincing at the movement. "You said you would explain it to me later and it is later, Jason."

"I was sent," Jason muttered as he zipped up the duffle bag. He looked at Mia, his expression unreadable.

Mia arched a brow. "Sent?" she asked. "Sent by who?"

Jason coughed as he began to wipe her blood from the Swiss Army knife.

"Jason," Mia snapped. "Sent by _who_?"

"You should get some rest," Jason answered as he used his t-shirt to clean the knife in his hand. "We'll need to switch trains in a few hours."

Instead of an answer, he got a punch to the ribs. Jason ducked for the second blow and grabbed Mia's arm, twisting it behind her back. Mia spun around, breaking his grasp, and slamming her elbow into the small of his back.

He kicked his foot into the back of knee, sending Mia to the floor. In one swift movement, Jason pinned her to the ground and placed his mouth near her ear.

"I am less likely to tell you anything if you pull a stunt like that again," he hissed into her ear.

Mia struggled against his weight. Jason flipped her over and held both arms down by her slender wrists with one hand.

"Are you done?" he asked.

She kneed him in the groin in response. Jason gasped and fell to his side, seeing stars as he collected himself.

He heard the compartment door open and shut.

Jason quickly got to his feet. Grabbing the duffle bag and shoving the knife into his pocket, Jason bolted out into the corridor in time to see Mia moving towards the back of the car. She stared at him for a moment before breaking into a run towards the exit. Jason chased after her.

A head of him, Mia had stopped and was struggling to open a door.

She was going to jump from the train.

Jason hurried and nearly grabbed Mia as she jumped from the moving train. Cursing, Jason threw himself from the train.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

_Washington, DC_

Cronin was slipping the arm of his jacket on when Dr. Webster came into the room. The older man was pale-faced, sadness etched into his features. He shut the door behind him and offered to help Cronin with his jacket.

Uncharacteristically, Tom Cronin let him. In silence, Dr. Webster slipped the jacket onto the agent's shoulder. After he brushed it off, Dr. Webster gave Cronin a comforting smile. Dr. Webster saw the younger man's red eyes and pale face – both from the pain of his injury and losing a close friend.

"I'm sorry about Pam," said Dr. Webster, his voice soft.

Cronin nodded as he hopped off the bed. He kept his face down, looking at the stark floors of the hospital. "Me too," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. I never thought it would be her, Cronin thought.

Pamela Landy was not the type of person who would be murdered. She would know about it days before the plan was carried out. That was her. It had always been her. And now, she was gone. He wished her death would have been peaceful, quiet, and surrounded by a gaggle of grandchildren. She would die with a smile on her face as she lay in a nice, warm bed.

Instead, Pamela lay on a slab in the morgue. Cronin had seen her and found himself vomiting into the nearest trash can. They had cleaned her up, but seeing Pamela so lifeless had jarred him. Her blonde hair had been in a tangle of clotted blood, brain matter, and bone fragments. If it hadn't been for that, she looked serene. Her skin was translucent with a bluish tint. Her red lipstick was still applied and her eyes were closed.

He heard Dr. Webster's voice. Cronin turned his head and looked at the older man.

"Have you heard from Bourne?" asked the doctor.

Cronin shook his head. He had almost forgotten about the asset, who had known something was wrong. Their call had been cut off by the gunshots and Cronin found himself wondering if Bourne was all right.

Of course, he was all right. With him, no news was good news. Bourne was probably hiding somewhere safe and getting ready to make his next move. "He's probably fine," said Cronin as he walked to the doorway. He began to walk down the hallway with Dr. Webster a few paces behind him.

As they walked, one of the team members, a young woman, came up to Cronin, folding a file. "You left this at the scene," she said quietly.

Cronin took the file and saw in printed black ink, **WEBB, DAVID R**. He stopped in his tracks and felt a chuckle rise. _Pam, you sneaky girl_, he thought.

"The President has requested a meeting with you," said the girl.

Cronin and Dr. Webster looked at each other. "When?" asked Cronin.

"Now," she said timidly. "He's downstairs in one of the conference rooms."

* * *

_Somewhere over France_

Aaron Phillips sat in the main cabin, clutching his wine glass. The wine was half-drunk, for it was crappy wine. The type you'd get out of a box. Nevertheless, it was what the stewardess had brought him and so he drank it.

It had been two days since Bourne and Mia had evaded his team. He had let them. Instead of sending agents to patrol the railroad, Phillips decided to let his asset slip through his fingers. She would turn up, with Bourne, when the time was right.

As he stared at her from across the station, seeing her pale, tired face, Phillips felt for her. The pains of guilt and regret were swimming in his stomach. She had trusted him with her life, more than Mia trusted Abbott. Unlike his predecessor, Phillips had managed to make the asset smile or even act friendly towards him.

As Dr. Hirsch slid Mia's file across the table in New York City, Phillips made a promise to himself that he would tell her the truth, no matter what. He would not make the same mistakes as Abbott. Ward had been brilliant, but a fool all the same. He thought he had the situation with Jason Bourne under control.

Everyone knew how that had ended.

Phillips would assume that Mia was never under control. She would need constant monitoring, leading him to visit Lisbon at least once a week. It was his job to keep Mia from becoming another Jason Bourne.

He had failed. Mia was somewhere with the other asset and judging by the look in her eyes at the station, she knew that Phillips had ordered a hit on her. Her eyes, usually so clear and alert and devoid of any emotion, looked hurt. Her face – which was unusually pale – looked wounded. All her features were darkened, not like a killer's, but of someone who had been betrayed. The sunlight lit up her dark hair, creating a halo effect.

It was the most beautiful thing Phillips had ever seen. She looked like an angel – his angel.

Phillips had rationalized to himself that Mia knew that the day would come when he would need to end her life. Assets had a short life expectancy – she had to have known that.

Either way, Phillips knew that with Bourne's help, Mia would make killing her a difficult job.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

_Algeciras, Spain_

It was sometime in the early afternoon, judging by the rays of light coming through cracks in the curtain. By the lack of brightness and the sound of boat horns, it was overcast outside and they were by water.

Mia had been lying awake for a solid five minutes, listening to the sounds around her. She had heard Jason shuffling around in the room, obviously trying to be quiet, but not succeeding. The sound of his foot hitting a table and him swearing was what woke her up. Mia had felt the weight of the bed shift as he had sat down to inspect his foot, and then shift back as he stood up again.

As she lay in the bed, Mia thought over the events from the past seventy-two hours.

She had waited for Jason after jumping from the train. As Mia stood in the middle of a field, she dusted off her jeans and jacket with her hands while watching Jason make his way over to her.

He had grabbed her arm, jerking her body around, and screamed, "Are you _insane_!"

"By the time we arrived at the next station, Phillips would have the entire policía waiting for us," Mia said calmly. "I just handed you a diversion." She broke loose of Jason's grip and began to rub her arm. "You're welcome, by the way."

Jason balled his fists, trying to retort. She did have a point and not matter how crazy it was, she just saved them from trouble. "Well," Jason finally said, "next time, refrain from fighting me and just tell me what you are thinking."

Mia crossed her arms over her chest with an indignant expression. "How about you tell me who sent you and why?"

"I was sent by Pamela Landy," Jason said.

Mia thought about the name for a moment, mouthing it, but realization dawned on her. "The Acting Director of the CIA?"

Jason nodded.

Mia let out a strangled cry and spun around in disbelief. "Pamela Landy?" she shouted to no one. "The Acting Director of the CIA sent you to find me?" she asked in a low voice. "How does she even know about me? And don't tell me that it's because of Paz. He didn't seem like the type to share information willingly."

Jason dropped the duffle bag at his feet. "Nicky Parsons."

Mia paled. "What about her?" Mia asked in a panicked voice. When Jason reached for her, she jerked away, trembling. "What about her?"

"She sent a postcard addressed to me with your description," Jason explained in calm down. "When you were pursuing her, did you lose her for a moment?"

Mia blinked her mind racing. She had lost her – if only for a few minutes – before finding her again.

"Jesus…" Mia choked as she brought a trembling hand up to her mouth. Jason reached for her again, but Mia pushed him away.

Jason raised his hands up. "Just calm down, okay? I won't hurt you. I just need to ask you some questions and find out who ordered the hit and why."

"Then you'll kill me," Mia said.

Jason shook his head. "No," he replied as Mia let out a sarcastic laugh. "I am supposed to bring you to a safe house to be transported back to the States. The CIA wants to protect you. They want to help."

"Is that what they told you?" Mia asked angrily. "That they would help you and protect you? After all they've done to us? Do you actually believe them?"

Jason could see tears threatening to fall down Mia's cheeks. He had told her too much, too soon. Her body was trembling even harder from the shock of his words and the bullet she had taken. "Yes," he said. "I do."

"Oh my fucking god," Mia shouted as she spun around on her heel in rebuttal. A wave of dizziness overcame her, buckling her knees and sending her to the ground. Mia dropped to her hands and knees, staying still for a moment.

Jason was next to her in a flash, one hand steadying her. Through the curtain of dark hair, he saw tears spilling down Mia's pale cheeks. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already," Jason whispered. "I just want answers. That's all I want."

Mia's lip trembled. "That's not all you want," she whispered.

"You're right," Jason answered. "I am going to give you a choice: you can give me answers and we go our separate ways or we work together."

Mia was perplexed by his words. "We never get a choice," she replied.

"Yes, you do."

She heard Jason shuffling around the bed (a full, judging by the number of footsteps) over to the window. He fiddled with the curtains and slid them open. As the light hit Mia's face, he saw that she was awake.

He nodded his head in acknowledgement.

Jason had hot-wired a car and had driven over three hours to the next train station, where they boarded a train back into Spain. After much discussion, they headed to the port city in the south of Spain. It was one of the largest ports in Europe and granted them access to Bay of Gibraltar, which could take them to the Mediterranean, the Atlantic Ocean, Tangiers and other port cities.

Weak from her wounds and the exhaustion one gets from traveling with little sleep, Mia had practically collapsed when she and Jason had arrived at the tiny hostel in the early evening. Under the guise of an American couple traveling through Europe, the owner's wife showed them to their room where Mia passed out as soon as the door closed.

Looking down at herself, Mia realized that she was in a men's under shirt. She pulled herself up to inspect it when she winced in pain.

"Slowly," said Jason as he came to her aid. Gently, Jason wrapped his arm across Mia's back and helped her get into a seated position. With his free hand, Jason grabbed pillows from the other side of the bed and dropped them behind Mia's back. As Jason eased her down, he said, "We've been here for about a day and a half."

Mia watched as Jason pulled down the covers to her thighs. He lifted her shirt to reveal her bandaged wound, which had been changed while she was resting. "Have there been any signs of detection?"

Jason shook his head as he gently peeled away the bandage to inspect her healing wound. "I told the owners that you had a touch of the flu and that you wanted to rest." Jason looked up at her. "It's cliché but it was the only thing that came to mind."

Mia nodded as she craned her head to see the wound. Jason had re-stitched two of the black threads that had come undone post-train jumping. Around the thread, the skin was still an angry shade of pink, but healing. "No bad," said Mia as she inspected her waist. "Thank you." She looked up at him, her mouth curving to a smile.

"You're welcome."

For a moment, they lingered on the bed. She could smell soap on his skin and his deodorant. It was a nice smell and reminded her of the men she dated at Georgetown. Mia felt Jason's fingertips brush against her skin as he lowered the t-shirt. They stared at each other, before Jason quickly looked down.

"The hostel we're in is pretty quiet. I was talking to the couple who run it. They said it's the off season," Jason said as he got off the bed. He walked to the dresser and pulled open a drawer. As he rummaged around, Jason continued saying, "Pamela's dead."

"When?" asked Mia as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, minding her stiff side. "How?"

Jason didn't turn around. "The news said it was an assassination."

"Blackbriar."

Jason glanced over his shoulder and nodded, sadly. "Yes." After a moment of silence, Jason pulled out a women's clothing and tossed it onto the bed. "There is a bathroom straight down the hall. You can use my toothbrush."

"Jason, I'm-" Mia began.

"Don't say it," Jason snapped. He lowered his head, inhaling deeply as he gripped the wooden dresser.

Mia gathered up the clothes, his toothbrush, and one of the clean towels next to the door. "All right," she said as she opened the door. "I won't."

They stared at each other for a moment – two strangers with so much in common. When Mia opened the door and disappeared down the hallway, Jason let out a deep breath. Thoughts of when he first met Marie filled his head. The awkwardness, the strange tingling feeling in his stomach – all of it was coming back.

Jason closed his eyes as memories of the last few days entered his mind. Once Jason had gotten Mia put to bed, he stayed awake to watch over her with only the tiny television to keep him company. It had been only a few hours ago when Jason heard over CNN that Pamela Landy was dead.

He had felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Once again, Jason had caused the death of another person who tried to help him. He gritted his teeth, trying to contain his anger in fear of robbing Mia out of some much needed rest. Rage boiled within and tears filled his eyes.

When Pamela had told him that Nicky was dead, he felt nothing. No remorse, no sadness – just nothing.

As Marie floated away from him, Jason managed (by some sort of miracle) to keep himself in check.

Now, he felt…listless, lacking the means and energy to fight back. All his body wanted was a break – from the constant struggle of staying alive. He wanted just to sleep.

He had wiped his eyes furiously and told the hostel owners that he was going for a walk. Instead, Jason ran through town. The sounds of the town faded away and for a time, it was just his ragged breathing and his footsteps pounding against the pavement, leaving his frustration in his wake. Too many people were dying because of him.

Now Jason found himself stumbling to the bed, the lack of sleep getting the better of him. The asset collapsed on the bed, let the soft mattress take hold of him. His eyes slowly drifted shut, leaving him sprawled across the bed in an awkward angle.

_This is not a drill soldier_, said Conklin's voice.

Jason heard different voices, talking in unison. And the sound of feet slapping against pavement. They sounded like a stampede, as it become louder. In a blinding flash, Jason saw a group of soldiers, wearing their uniforms as they performed drills.

As Jason walked through the lines, he could see the beads of sweat rolling down their faces and disappearing into their shirts. Each man looked exhausted, put kept going as the drill sergeant barked orders.

As Jason walked through the lines, he could see the beads of sweat rolling down their faces and disappearing into their shirts. Judging by the uniforms of the soldiers, this unit was special – sharpshooters. Each man looked exhausted, but kept going as the drill sergeant barked orders.

The voice of the sergeant was indefinable. It sounded like it was coming over a bad phone connection. Jason saw the drill sergeant walking the lines on the other side. He tried to see his face, but found the man too quick for him.

One soldier collapsed to the ground, ignored by the others.

Jason looked down, watching the man struggle to get back up.

_This is not a drill soldier!_yelled the voice of the drill sergeant, clear for the first time and booming across the yard.

Jason tried to place the voice, wondering why it sounded so familiar. As he turned around, he saw that he was staring at himself – this man was younger. The wryness of being an asset had yet to take hold of his face, leaving worry lines and dark circles. Instead, the younger Jason Bourne had the beginnings of a tan, making his blue eyes unnaturally bright under his cap.

Jason's eyes wander down, seeing the name across the man's chest. D.R. Webb.

_Captain!_boomed a voice. Jason turned to see the familiar face – Conklin walking towards him. Jason watched as he breezed past him and stopped at his doppelganger. Jason noticed that the area had suddenly grown quiet and that all of the soldiers were gone, leaving no traces behind.

Instead of the yard, they were back in the field.

_Captain Webb,_ said Conklin, extended his hand towards the Army captain. _I am Alexander Conklin. We spoke on the phone._

Captain Webb nodded and took Conklin's hand, shaking it. _This is regarding that project?_

_Treadstone? Yes._ Conklin said, making Jason's stomach churn. _You came very highly recommended by your superiors. Your active duty is impressive. I feel that you would be an asset to the program, as well as your country. That is, if you decide to enlist._

Suddenly, Jason found himself back in the room below 415 East 71st Street. The starkness of the room was overwhelming. From the corner of the room, he saw a figure – David Webb – sitting in a chair, his head down and lolling on his shoulders. His counterpart was still, his breathing the only indication that he was still alive.

Jason edged around the room until he was facing Webb's back. Around Webb's wrist was rope that dug into his skin, causing it to bruise and bleed. A thin sheen of perspiration covered Webb's pale skin as his breathing became shallow.

_What have I done?_ mumbled Webb, his voice hoarse. With great difficulty, he looked up at Jason. Webb's face had a few bruises and a cut above his lip. _What have I done?_ asked Webb, his voice getting more desperate. _Why didn't you stop me?_

Jason sat straight up, startled to find that he was alone in the room. Mia had left the tableside lamp on in her absence and had covered him with a blanket. Jason scrambled for his watch and saw that it was past seven at night. With his heart pounding against his ribcage, Jason grabbed his knife and stalked out of the room, thinking of all of the possibilities.

Had Mia double-crossed him? It would be the most obvious, since he had no solid reason to trust her. She had helped him evade the policía in Lisbon, but that gesture had also been in her best interests.

As Jason walked down the hallway with bare feet, he heard the sound of laughing coming from downstairs. The first voice was the husband, followed by his wife. Once they quieted down, he heard Mia speaking Spanish and all three of them laughed once more.

His foot made one of the panels in the floor creak under his weight. The laughter stopped. He heard Mia's voice again, saying "John debe ser despierto. Déjeme ir lo consiguen."

_John must be awake. Let me go get him._Jason smirked to himself, knowing that Mia had seen his passport. He heard her coming up the stairs when Jason realized he had the knife in his hands. As she came around the corner, Jason dropped the knife, letting it land in a dark corner with a dull thud, the blade buried in the wood.

"Hi," she said. She saw the uncomfortable expression etched into his face. Mia craned her neck, seeing the metal glimmer in the light from the stair well.

Jason cleared his throat. "Hi."

Mia arched her brow, before turning back down the stairs. As Jason caught up with her, Mia glanced behind her and snapped, "You can trust me, you know."

"You weren't in the room when I woke up," explained Jason. "I thought something was wrong."

Mia stopped on the stairs. "What could be wrong?" she asked as she turned around. "Other than you thought I ran off."

"I didn't think you ran off," retorted Jason.

Mia crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head. "Which is exactly why you have a knife?" She watched Jason stammer, trying to explain himself.

"I had to be sure," replied Jason.

Mia shook her head as she continued down the stairs.

All of her interactions with Jason had been stoic and almost painful. He was used to working alone and not trusting anyone. He never said enough. It was obvious by the way he spoke to her, almost expecting her to run off to Phillips with their exact location.

"Our gracious hosts made us dinner," she said over her shoulder before entering the reception area with a smile on her face. It was the smile she gave Abbott when she had to pretend she was happy.

* * *

Maybe Jason was too jaded to tell the different, but she could always see a disapproving expression on Danny Zorn's face. He glared at her, his eyes knowing that she was lying. Sometimes, Danny would shake his head, taunting her with a wicked smile; a smile that meant more than met the naked eye.

At first, she wondered if Abbott had murdered Danny just to spite her as things were falling apart. When he had told Mia that Danny was dead, his voice was thick with triumph. She was shaking by the time the conversation was over, knowing that Abbott knew about them.

Mia wasn't sure why it had started, but it had. She loathed Danny to the core and wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face whenever he spoke. That tone, like nails on a chalkboard, was high and mighty. He always spoke down to her and acted so arrogant.

Ever since the incident in the Treadstone facility, Danny Zorn took caution not to cross the line. He had seen what Mia was capable of and that was enough for Danny Zorn. It was also enough for Mia. When he did speak, she pretended not to listen or waved him off. After all, he was only Abbott's assistant.

On an assignment in London, she expected Abbott to accompany her. When she arrived at the hotel, she found Danny sitting in her room, his arms folded over his chest, and wearing a suit. Mia slammed the door and dropped her bag next to her feet.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Danny arched his brow and smirked at her. "Ward sent me," he replied as he stood up.

"Why would he do that?" Mia stomped over to him, pushing him back down into the chair.

Danny fell back into the chair, provoked. After a moment, he straightened his suit. "He was preoccupied with another assignment."

"So he sent you?" she asked, almost laughing. She spun on her heel and walked over to the mini-bar, pouring herself a drink. "Tell me, Danny, when he said jump, did you ask how high?" Just as she was about to take a sip, Mia felt a hand grab her, sending her drink to the floor. She looked up, seeing Danny's face in front of hers.

His eyes were blazing and his face was contorted. Danny leaned in close, his mouth against her ear, and said, "You might think I'm his bitch, but I dare you to piss me off, Mia." Danny yanked her again. His face was in front of hers, his skin turning pink in anger. "I dare you," he whispered, his mouth inching dangerously close to hers.

Mia was at a loss. She stood there, her mouth gaping open, unable to come up with a snappy comeback. Her heart was pounding against her chest, so loudly that Mia thought Danny could hear it. Instead of slapping him away, she inched closer to him, so that their lips almost touched. "Try me," she whispered her voice raspy.

She was surprised when Danny didn't back down and pushed her against the wall, his mouth on top of hers. His hands were tangled in her hair; pulling it out of the bun she had it in only moments before, as his tongue licked her lower lip. Mia let out a moan as she let Danny gain entrance to her mouth, allowing his tongue to dance against her own. Goosebumps rose on Mia's skin as Danny's mouth moved to her neck. She let out a gasp, feeling his tongue teasing her skin and sending waves of pleasure through her body.

Mia's hands began to fumble with the buttons on Danny's suit jacket, her fingers stopping their motions as his mouth found a sensitive spot under her chin. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, releasing control to Danny. His lips, surprisingly soft, left her skin burning, a flood of desire filling her as Danny liberated Mia from controlling every moment of her existence.

Danny's mouth bit down on her skin, gnashing his teeth and bruising her. Mia let out a cry, pulling him towards her, her nails digging into the back of his neck.

With one hand, he finished unbuttoning his jacket and jerked it off his shoulders. She heard it drop to the carpet and his mouth leave her skin, causing Mia to open her eyes.

Danny was looking at her, his eyelids lowered and his breathing unsteady. His cheeks were flushed, as were few splotches on his neck. With shaking hands, he undid his tie, letting it join his jacket.

As Mia was about to speak, she was pushed back against the wall, the back of her head knocking against the wallpaper, and she was silenced by Danny's mouth. As they kissed, Mia forced herself from being distracted and began to slip each button on his shirt out of place. It was painstakingly slow, forcing Danny to break the kiss and whisper, "Fuck, you're killing me."

"Good," she breathed.

But now, she replayed him saying that over and over again. His tone – it was desperate and sexy (though Mia hated to admit Danny being sexy over desperate).

Mia abandoned all pretense of detachment, yanking at Danny's belt as his hands found their way to the hem of her top. Their lips crashed together once more as Danny pulled her top over her head and tossed it to the floor. She pulled at the buckle, harder with each passing second, as Danny's hands found their way to her breasts. One hand teased, while his other hand fumbled with her bra.

Mia imagined Danny to be clumsy with the opposite sex, but as his hands touched her, she let out a moan. His echoed a split second later as the belt buckle sprang open under her hands and she reached inside his clothing.

"We shouldn't do this," she said between kisses.

Danny tongue darted across her collarbone as they fell on the bed, him on top of Mia. "I know."

"It's a bad idea," Mia gasped as she slid his shirt off his shoulders and grabbed his white undershirt. "Very bad…"

"I know," replied Danny as he helped her undress him. "A very bad idea."

A few hours later, when they lay side by side in the bed, skin soaked with sweat, and exhausted, Mia turned her head to look at Danny.

His face was interesting – not the typical Connecticut W.A.S.P bloodstock he came from. His nose was awkward, not quite hooked, but not a button nose. Danny's skin was sprinkled with freckles from head to toe. His blue eyes, which were closed at the moment, weren't quite blue. They were slate-blue and they seared Mia's as he thrust into her.

"See anything you like?" mumbled Danny as a grin appeared on his lips. He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Mia.

She shook her head, her expression as serious as ever, and said, "No. I still think you're quite ugly." As she was about to roll over, Danny grabbed her and pulled Mia to him. She let out a laugh as he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck.

"Ugly?" Danny replied as he pinned her down on the bed. He propped himself up with one arm and brushed a piece of Mia's hair off her shoulder. "At least, I have other attributes going for me."

Mia made a face, knowing he was right. "It's your saving grace," she said, flatly. She cocked her head, studying his face.

"What?" asked Danny as he settled himself on the pillow and wrapped an arm around her waist.

"What if he finds out?" If Abbott found out that his prized asset and his assistant were in bed together…the thought made Mia nauseous. Ward Abbott seemed to be a rational man, but Mia knew better. She could tell he was the type of man who would be possessive and by any means necessary would make sure no one else would have her. It wasn't a sexual thing, but a control issue. Abbott controlled her from the beginning and if Danny was able to break that control, even for a moment…

Danny shook his head, grinning boyishly. "He won't," he assured.

"But he might," retorted Mia, her voice filled with concern.

"Just be really mean to me when he's around," Danny said as his lips touched hers.

For almost two years, they kept their relationship a secret.

Mia was unbearably rude to Danny whenever they were accompanied by Abbott. They insulted each other any chance they got, but as soon as Abbott turned his back or left the room with Danny in tow, Danny would flash her that wicked smile.

It meant something different this time. Those lips knew her intimately and knew where to apply pressure to get the desired result. His eyes had seen her at her peak, his hands holding her down on the bed as he drove her out of her mind.

Danny was an enigma in bed. Sometimes he would be gentle with her, especially if Mia had just gotten back from an assignment. He would kiss each bruise, each cut, and every pain in her body away until she fell asleep in his arms. Other times, after they had been in Abbott's presence, Danny would be rough with her. A few times, she had left cuts on his back from her nails digging into him or Danny had crushed bruises into her wrists.

The last time she saw Danny, he was about to fly back to Berlin. Abbott had ordered him to go check in with Mia and had him stay in Lisbon for the weekend. Danny had been particularly irritable when he walked through her apartment door. Instead of saying hello, Danny grabbed Mia and threw her down on the couch, where he had been deliciously rough with her. After a few hours, Mia squirmed as Danny softened his touch against her skin, kissing his way up her back before he brushed his mouth against hers.

Mia watched him get dressed as she sat in bed, the covers pulled up to her chest. Danny's back was to her as he fiddled with his tie.

"Dammit," he hissed, throwing his arms up in aggravation.

Mia crawled over the bed, covers in tow, and sat next to him. "May I?" she offered. She grinned as Danny placed the tie in her hands and let her take control of the situation. "When will you be done in Berlin?"

"I'm not sure," he said as he watched her put his tie in place. Danny reached up, touching the curve of her cheek and smiled. "Why, does my ugliness make you miss me more?"

Mia snorted. "You have other attributes going for you," she replied. As she finished his tie, Mia smiled at her handiwork. "What is going on anyways?"

"Nothing," Danny replied, his tone darkening. He stood up to get his jacket.

"It's Jason Bourne, isn't it?"

Danny turned around, surprised. "How do you know about him?"

"Abbott let it slip a few times," Mia admitted. "He's been acting strangely, don't you think?"

Danny arched his brow. "Why do you say that?"

"It's just…" Mia shook her head. "You're about to leave and I refuse to talk about him just before you get on that plane." She smiled, a real smile, and motioned Danny back to the bed. He bent his head and kissed her gently.

"I'll call you when I get a moment," Danny whispered.

Mia leaned into him. "Promise?" She looked up at him, watching him smile.

"Of course," he said before kissing her again. As they parted, Danny breathed, "I love you."

She was quiet, not expecting the words to come out of his mouth. Mia's hands went to his tie, fingering the fabric, trying to think of what to say next.

"You don't have to say anything," Danny told her. He kissed the top of her head. "Not yet, at least."

He left her apartment for the last time. Danny had called her the following night, expressing his concern about the trip, saying things had gotten more complicated. They both knew something was terribly wrong and the next day, she received a phone call from his cell.

Only to find Abbott on the other end.

Mia's blood had run cold. Before he even said the words, she knew Danny was dead. Tears filled her eyes as she sat on the bed they had slept in.

"Danny's dead," said Abbott in a cold voice.

Mia bit her lip. "Dead?" she asked. "What happened?"

"It's all business, Mia," said Abbott. "Don't worry about him. He's not your problem anymore."

She felt like someone kicked her in the stomach as Mia heard Abbott hang up. She struggled to breathe as she got off the bed. Instead, she slid to the ground, her hand to mouth.

He didn't have to tell Mia that he was the one who killed Danny. She just knew. It was something she couldn't explain.

* * *

A hand on her shoulder jolted her back to reality. Mia looked at her shoulder, seeing Jason's fingers against the material of her shirt. The shirt he had bought her. She remembered the only thing Danny had given her – the diamond necklace that she kept in a secret pocket inside her jacket.

Danny used the excuse of meeting his parents in Europe to come see her. In truth, Danny and his parents were distant: his mother was a pill popper and his father was a functioning alcoholic. They were in Rome, but Danny had gotten a three-day layover in Madrid.

In their hotel room, before dinner, Danny presented her with a sea-foam blue box with a white bow as she was getting her dress on. As Mia stood in the mirror, she gave herself a once over and saw Danny staring at her from the bed.

"What?" she asked, spinning around with her hands on her hips.

Danny shrugged. "It needs something," he replied. He held up the box and smiled. "Tell me if you like it."

She did. In fact, Mia wore the necklace every day, a symbol of their relationship. It had existed, once upon a time.

"You okay?" asked Jason, keeping his voice low.

Mia nodded. "I'm fine," she said as she jerked her shoulder away from his grip. She didn't believe the words coming out of her mouth and judging by the way Jason looked at her through dinner, he didn't either.

Later, when the hostel owners had gone to bed, Mia and Jason sat across from each other in the small kitchen. Mia had one hand on a glass of sangria, while Jason leaned back in his chair. He was watching, her, and something that made Mia uncomfortable. She took a final sip and set the glass down before snapping, "If you have something to say, just say it." Mia looked up, staring Jason in the eye.

"You froze back there," said Jason, his voice low and even. "What happened?"

"It's none of your damn business," replied Mia, bitterly, as she stood up.

Jason caught her arm and spun her around. "You said I should trust you."

"That doesn't give you permission to pry into my life."

Jason let go of her arm. "Fair enough," he said.

"Anything else?"

Jason shook his head, clearly aggravated with her. "No."

Mia shrugged and began to leave the room just as Jason said, "Actually yes," causing her to freeze in the doorframe.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nicolette Parsons," said Jason.

Mia turned around. "She was an assignment."

"She was my…" Well, he wasn't sure what Nicky had been to him. Was she a friend? Old lover? Jason still wasn't sure. "I know." He watched Mia shift her body to lean against the door frame. "Who ordered the hit?"

Mia shrugged. "Phillips did, but I assumed you knew that."

"It's not surprising," Jason replied, his voice sounding more desperate than he would have liked. He looked down at the tile floor. "Do you know why?"

"Even if I told you, it won't bring her back, Jason," said Mia as she turned on her heel.

"I know," Jason retorted. When he looked up at Mia, his eyes were like steel. "Why was the assignment ordered?"

Mia inhaled and exhaled. "She knew too much," Mia replied. "After Desh failed to complete his assignment, I was ordered to go in and make sure it was done."

"Did he tell you what Nicky knew too much of?" asked Jason as he stood up. He walked over to Mia and leaned against the door frame, his arm resting above her head.

Mia looked at him and shrugged her shoulders. "I was only told what I needed to know," she said, simply.

Jason nodded and tapped his fingers against the painted wood. He pushed passed Mia, heading towards the stairs. "We'll talk more tomorrow," he said over his shoulder as he ascended to the second floor.

Instead of reply, Mia only nodded.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Washington, DC_

"So this asset, Jason Bourne, was one of ours?" asked the President of the United States. He pushed his eyeglasses down the slope of his nose, eyeballing the documents that were spread out in front of him.

Cronin nodded as he slipped another document over the table. "Up until two years ago."

"When he got amnesia," added the president. He scratched his chin. "And Director Landy let this man into the CIA program under what conditions?"

"That he eliminate all threats and lets us monitor him for a six month period to study the effects that Project Treadstone had on him," explained Cronin for the fifth time. "Something went wrong with his conditioning and Pamela wanted to find out what it was. She also wanted to know what the long term effects would be. She wanted to help him." He stopped speaking, letting his words sink in.

The President took the news of the whole Treadstone/Blackbriar mess in stride and if he was shocked, he hid it well. Cronin thought that in private, the president was tearing his hair out and wondering how this had gone on right underneath his nose.

Cronin cleared his throat. "There's more, sir."

The president looked up, his face paling. "_More_?"

"There is a complication with another asset."

The president took off his glasses. "There's another asset?"

"Her name is Mia Campos, birth name Caroline Paige Dubanowski," Cronin explained as he slid her file over to him. He had seen her photograph, which was taken from her student ID, and was surprised. She looked like any other young woman her age. "She is twenty-four years old. Her parents died in a boating accident off the shore of Santa Cruz, California when she was twelve. Afterward, Ms. Dubanowski was placed in a foster home. No criminal record. She graduated as one of three salutatorians from her high school and attended Georgetown University as Linguistics major, minors in Spanish and Portuguese. During her senior year, she studied abroad at Universidade de Coimbra in Portugal. That is where Ward Abbott made contact with her," said Cronin.

The president opened the file. "She's a civilian?"

"Yes," answered Cronin. "From what Dr. Hirsch has told us, they felt that someone who could be easily controlled would be beneficial for Treadstone. She did not have the military training of the other assets and she was a woman, something they never tried before. Under the pretense of offering her a job with the CIA, Abbott gained her trust and they were able to transport her back to the training facility in New York. After six months, she was active from Lisbon, Portugal. Albert says she's the reason why they renamed the project Blackbriar." Cronin leaned back in the chair, waiting for the Commander in Chief to take the information in.

The president pushed the file away with a grimace on his face. "A civilian," he gasped. He took off his glasses and wiped them with his sleeve. "She was just a child."

"Yes sir," answered Cronin.

Running a hand through his hair, the President shook his head. "Unbelievable," he mumbled. "Who was handling her after Abbott?"

"Aaron Phillips, director of the Madrid offices." Cronin watched the president's face turn green. He could guess what the president was feeling. All of this, it was all an inside job. Everyone in power seemed to have a hand in the Treadstone/Blackbriar scandal and never seemed to end. "He doesn't know that Bourne told us."

The president nodded. "When was your last contact with Bourne?"

"Before the shooting."

"Since then?"

"Nothing, but that is usually a good thing with him," replied Cronin. "We received a call from Phillips saying that Bourne was spotted at Santa Apolónia Station with an unknown female."

"The female is Campos, correct?" said the president.

Cronin nodded. "And another one of the assets, Paz Longoria, was shot dead in the Santa Maria Maior de Lisboa."

"Well this is a just a huge fucking mess!" exclaimed the president as he rubbed his temples. He grunted and looked up at Cronin. "What should we do?"

Cronin tapped his fingers against the table, and then leaned back into the chair. "Bourne is on to something and we need to let him handle it on his own. As Pamela wanted us to do, we clean up any messes he makes…"

"_Messes_?" The president moaned.

"…and let Jason Bourne complete his assignment," ended Cronin.

After a few long moments, the president let out a sigh. "I expect that you would want me to grant Jason Bourne and Mia Campos clemency once they return to our jurisdiction?"

That wasn't a question and Cronin knew it. It was an afterthought and the president's way of making things right. After all, it had been the people in his government who committed such crimes, especially against Mia Campos. While on his way down to speak to the president, a federal prosecutor stopped Cronin in the hallway to tell him that one of Hirsch's lawyers called to enter a plea bargain.

The old man knew he was facing multiple counts of treason and manslaughter, but now he had kidnapping charges to contend with. If the girl - Caroline Dubanowski – was able to testify against him, Hirsch could end up getting the death penalty.

"Yes," answered Cronin.

The president shrugged and set down his glasses. "Fine," he said.

"And you will need to overturn her death certificate," added Cronin.

"As soon as she is back in our jurisdiction," said the president with frown on his face.

Cronin stood up and gathered the documents. As he walked to the door, he turned to the president and said, "Works for me."

* * *

_London, England_

Due to his line of work, Aaron Phillips had a good life. He had an expensive car, a luxury apartment in the middle of London, and money in the bank. He was good at his job and was well respected. It was because of this that Ezra Kramer had approached him to assist with Operation Treadstone. Phillips had managed to clean up the mess that Conklin had left behind as the program transitioned into Operation Blackbriar.

He had been good at that, too, and he would take any measures necessary, including ordering a hit on Pamela Landy.

If only he could do away with Mia as easily as Landy. As he drank his wine in his home office, he thought that he would be damned if his life fell apart because of some twenty-four year old little girl with a gun.

It had been a few days since he arrived home, amidst the disaster in Lisbon. Bourne and Mia had all but vanished off the grid. They had evaded capture in Portugal, leaving Phillips guessing where they could be.

As he brought the glass to his lips, his cell phone rang. Phillips placed the glass on his desk and picked up the phone. "Phillips," he said in a tense voice.

"We have a problem," said the caller. It was Kramer. He sounded eerily calm, despite the circumstances.

Phillips cleared his throat and replied, "Yes, it seems we do."

"Has your team been tracking them, Aaron?"

Phillips felt his cheeks flushing with anger. "Of course my team has been tracking them, Ezra," he snapped as he grabbed the glass of wine and took a large gulp. He swallowed, smacking his lips. "It's not like I put a bell on Mia, for Christ's sake!"

"Maybe," Kramer said, heatedly, "you _should_have."

"If you do remember, Ezra, I did not bring Ms. Campos into the program," Phillips growled. "That was Ward."

"Well, Ward is dead. What are we going to do about this, Aaron? She is a liability and now that she's with Jason Bourne, we are up shit's creek. And Vosen wants to cut a deal, in exchange for protection. We can't have either scenario."

"Put a hit on him," Phillips suggested. "What about that asset in Prague – Cabot? I'm sure he can take care of Vosen."

"A wise suggestion. I will make a call," Kramer said. "But what about Bourne and Campos?"

Phillips tapped his wine glass with his finger, thinking. "I am fairly certain that Mia was injured during their esc-"

"How certain are you?"

"_Fairly_certain," hissed Phillips as he put the glass down. "My guess is that they crossed back into Spain and are sticking to towns with access to major transportation lines."

"What are you suggesting?" asked Kramer, his interest perked.

"We could put an alert out on Bourne, seeing how Mia isn't supposed to exist," suggested Phillips. "Once we find him, we'll find her."

Kramer was silent, only his breathing could be heard. "Okay," he said at last. "Make the call."

* * *

_Algeciras, Spain_

It was their fourth day in Algeciras and Bourne had taken many measures to avoid speaking to Mia when they weren't in front of their hosts. He slept on the floor despite Mia insisting that he could share the bed with her. Jason had only grunted in reply as he tossed pillows onto the floor and grabbed an extra blanket.

During the day, they went their separate ways. Mia played tourist and explored the city. Jason, on the other hand, never divulged what he was up to. When each of them returned to the hostel, they lapsed back into an awkward silence.

The fourth day was no different than the other two. She had spent the morning shopping and had changed in an alleyway into a new pair of jeans, shirt, and jacket. For good measure, she bought a new knit cap and a small cross body bag made of leather. She had discarded her old clothing, except her boots, and simply walked away. For the first time since her flight from Lisbon, she felt like herself.

Afterward, she had gone to a café to grab a bite to eat. When she was done, Mia headed back to the hostel for siesta. As Mia was paying, she glanced up at the television in the café before looking back down.

She glanced up again.

On the television screen was the same blue eyes and chiseled features of Jason Bourne. Mia let out a surprised gasp as she grabbed her change and left the café.

Phillips was smoking them out with the only way he knew how. He certainly couldn't use her photo since she wasn't supposed to exist, but Jason was fair game.

Mia rushed through the crowds of people on the street, pushing her way through workers, housewives, and students returning home for a few hours. She headed in the direction of the hostel since she had no idea where Jason spent his days.

As she approached the hostel, it seemed quiet. Mia slipped through the front door and into the lobby, unnoticed. She snuck across the tiled floors, careful of where she stepped, and reached the staircase to the second story. Mia made a quick sensory check of her surroundings and saw no one. Breathing a sigh of relief, she mounted the stairs, walking as lightly as she could and hoping that Jason was in the room waiting for her.

She felt one of the stairs creak under her weight and the sound of someone in the kitchen. They dropped a pan and hollered a greeting in Spanish. Mia bit her lip.

Footsteps.

Mia turned her head and saw the wife of the hostel owner at the bottom of the stairs, clutching a frying pan in one hand.

Mia began to hurry up the stairs towards the room with the wife following behind her. She turned a corner and pushed the door to the room that Jason and her shared, only to find it empty. Mia closed the door and began to search the room for any clues to Jason's whereabouts.

The door opened and she heard the wife's voice booming in Spanish, "You stay right there! I saw your husband on the television. I'm calling the police!"

Mia spun around, throwing her hands up in the air and replying in English, "I have no idea what you are saying." She pushed her way past the wife, who followed.

"Your husband is a bad man. You stay here and wait for the police," she ordered as she grabbed Mia by the arm and shook the frying pan in her face with the other. Her face was contorted in anger, though only the evening before, she was friendly and talkative.

Mia tried to jerk her arm out of the woman's grasp while saying, "I have no idea what you're saying." She dodged the frying pan and with one strong tug, her arm was free as she yelled "No tengo idea qué usted está diciendo!"

The wife snarled in response and swung the frying pan at Mia's head. Mia grabbed the wife's hand as the metal came within inches of her face, startling the woman with her reflexes. Before she had time to reaction, Mia shoved the frying pan into the woman's face, knocking her head backwards with a sickening thud. The woman stumbled back, too stunned to duck from Mia delivering a punch to her temple. The wife crumbled to the ground with a moan, slumped against the wall. The frying pan fell to the ground with a clang, the woman's fingers still wrapped around the handle.

"Nina!" yelled the owner of the hostel. "Nina!" Mia could hear him coming up the stairs, shouting to someone on the phone. It was the policía, no doubt.

Mia took off into her room as he came up the stairs. The hostel owner followed suit, screaming at her in Spanish. Mia braced herself as she continued running towards the window, her cross body bag thumping against her thighs. She heard the sound of glass shattering as she crashed through the window frame. Mia tucked into herself as she fell from the second story of the hostel and rolled to the pavement, feeling shards of glass cutting into her hands and face.

Without missing a beat, Mia bolted down the street to avoid running into the policía.

_Where the hell are you_, Jason, she thought as she ran, putting more distance between herself and the hostel. In the distance, she heard the wail of sirens.

As she turned a corner, Mia felt someone grab her and pull her into an alley way. She grabbed the arm of her assailant, preparing to attack when she heard his voice saying, "It's just me."

Mia dropped her arms and saw that Jason was standing in front of her. She stared at him blankly for a few moments, before hissing, "Where the fuck were you?" Mia began to angrily brush pieces of glass from her person. A tickle of blood rolled down from a cut on her cheek. "I nearly got taken out by an old lady with a frying pan while you were off by yourself." She began to shake a piece of glass from her hair. "I thought we were supposed to be working together, Jason!"

Jason took her by the elbow, leading her down the alley. "I was down by the port."

"Doing what exactly?" ranted Mia as they turned a corner onto a quiet street. "Dicing with the sailors? Throwing back a few beers?"

Jason let go of her arm as they approached a row of empty cars parked on the street. Ignoring Mia, he studied each one as they walked passed until they came upon an old Mini Cooper. It was a battered affair of orange with a tear in the back seat.

He paused, his mind thinking of Marie and they first time they met.

"Are you even listening to me?" snapped Mia.

Jason glanced at her before thrusting the duffle bag into her hands. "Hold this," he said as he tore open the bag and rummaged around for the medical kit. He found the white plastic box and opened the lid to grab a pair of tweezers. Jason turned his attention to the driver side door and began to pick the lock. He could sense Mia keeping an eye out on the street. "I don't dice," he said as he jerked the end of tweezers. "And I don't like beer." He glanced up at Mia.

"What's your plan then?" she asked, motioning her head to the car. "Phillips knows that we're still in the area, whether it be Spain or Portugal. We need to leave the country without attracting more attention and we need to do it quickly."

Jason pushed the tweezers in and turned them to the left, jiggling the instrument in his hand. "Where do you suggest we go?"

"I know of a safe house in Turin," Mia said as the driver's side door strung open. She watched Jason begin to hot wire the car.

"I'm sure that Phillips is aware of all of the Blackbriar safe houses in Europe," Jason said, his voice thick with concentration.

"Not this one," Mia replied quietly.

Jason looked up. "What are you saying?"

"I have an apartment in Turin." Mia nodded her head to the wires in Jason's hand. "Cross the blue one with the green one," she said as she squatted down next to him. "Like this," she added as she crossed the wires and the car's engine roared to life. Mia stood up and walked over to the passenger side as Jason slid into the driver's seat. "If we take AP-7, we'll get there in 19 hours," she said as she got into the car and slammed the door shut.

As they strapped themselves into the seats, a wail of sirens assaulted them. The two assets looked up and saw policía vehicles charging down the street.

Without a second thought, Jason slammed his foot on the gas and sped the car down the roadway, making a sharp turn onto the main street, narrowly avoiding oncoming traffic.

The wheels screeched and the Mini lurched under Jason's rough usage. He was vaguely aware of Mia loading her gun with a clip before rolling down the window.

One of the policía cars rammed into the back of the car, causing it to fishtail. Jason jerked the wheel, bringing the car back under his control, and turned the wheel to turn down a small alley.

He heard the sound of gun fire, then a car crashing into a solid object. Jason looked into the rearview and saw that the pursuing policía car had lost control and crashed into a building. As he put distance between himself and the wreckage, he spotted the deflated front tires.

He heard Mia shout before another car rammed into the Mini, this time on the driver's side. Jason felt the wind being knocked out of him by the sheer force of the other car. As he blacked out, the Mini spun violently.

"Jason," he heard Mia say as she shook his shoulders. "Jason."

His eyes snapped open and saw her face looming above his. Mia's lip was bleeding and Jason could see the beginnings of a bruise blossoming on her left cheek. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"A little worse for wear, but I'll live," she said as she crawled back to her seat and opened the passenger door. "Hurry," she said as she got of the car. "Before they come to."

Confused, Jason looked through the mangled window, where he saw that the officers who had rammed their vehicle into the Mini. Both were knocked unconscious from the wreck and slumping in their seats. Jason released himself from the seat belt and climbed out through the window of the car.

His head ached from hitting the frame of the car. Blood rolled down the side of his face from a gash above his ear, but other than that, he would live.

"Come on," said Mia as she began to walk away from the wreck, waiting for Jason to follow.

By the time the other cars from the policía arrived at the wreck, the assets had vanished.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**  
_Langley, Virginia_

Cronin thought that he would have a moment's piece when he came into the office, but as he exited the elevator to a scene of complete chaos, he knew that that moment would have to wait.

In the depths of his gut he knew that Bourne had been spotted. Pamela's – no – his team paused, watching him as he went to his office to put down his briefcase and jacket, their expressions distraught and worried.

Cronin threw his belongings onto his desk as the head of the Research Techs came to his door. "Okay," said Cronin as he sat down. "What happened?"

The research tech, Hamilton, cleared his throat before saying, "Bourne was spotted in Algeciras, Spain with an unidentified female. The owners of the hostel they were staying at saw the news bulletin and recognized Bourne from the photograph."

"Wait," Cronin said, sharply. "What news bulletin?"

"It's in here," Hamilton said as he motioned Cronin towards the research room.

Cronin rose to his feet and walked with Hamilton into the room. "We never issued a news bulletin," he said as Hamilton snapped his fingers at a tech to turn on one of the monitors. "Who authorized this?"

"The Madrid office," replied Hamilton as the news footage began to roll.

The footage was old and grainy, taken two years ago in a U.S. embassy in Zurich. The newscaster's voice explained in Spanish that the man was Jason Bourne, a rogue operative wanted by the CIA. She explained that he was presumed to be dead until he was spotted in Lisbon with an unidentified female companion. The footage paused, replaced by a recent still of Jason.

"Jesus," Cronin breathed as Hamilton stopped the video. He stared at Jason's image and wished Landy was here, since she was better in these types of situations. "Where is he now?"

Hamilton shook his head. "Bourne was able to evade capture and we weren't notified until two hours ago. Aaron Phillips informed us once his agents were able to secure the scene."

"How long has he been off the grid?" asked Cronin.

"A little over twelve hours."

"Did Phillips make any mention of Bourne's companion?"

"No sir, he did not."

_Of course not_, thought Cronin as he chewed on his lower lip. He knew in his gut that Phillips had ordered the APB to smoke Bourne out of hiding, knowing that Campos would be with him. Phillips knew that if knowledge of Bourne being alive leaked out, it would make it more difficult for the asset to take down the rest of Blackbriar.

Cronin knew from past experience not to underestimate Jason. Conklin had tried the same method two years prior and still, Bourne had been able to work around it.

_Pam, what would you do?_thought Cronin. He continued to stare at the screen, hoping for Jason's image to jog him into action. After a few moments and various eyes on him, Cronin cleared his throat. "I want round the clock surveillance on all news coverage concerning western and central Europe. Watch for any hits on Bourne's passports, police logs, or movement from other assets in Europe. Bourne will stick to major tourist epicenters, ones with multiple lines of transportation and are central in that country. These will provide an easy escape route. Watch for patterns – Bourne will use these to keep us informed of his whereabouts without alerting other authorities."

"What about the Madrid office and Phillips, sir?" asked one of the research techs.

Cronin frowned. "Let him tie his own noose," he finally said.

* * *

He was dreaming again.

Jason was in his apartment in Paris, engaged in combat with Castel, the first operative that Conklin had sent after him. Marie was screaming as Jason delivered blow after blow to Castel's body. Before he knew it, Castel threw himself out the window and onto the street ten flights below.

_He went out the window…why would someone do that_? Marie had finally said, dazed.

A gunshot rang, shifting the dream to Goa. Jason was holding Marie's lifeless face with his hands as his lips desperately blew air into her mouth. He could feel the sting of tears as he blew harder and harder, trying to jar her to life. With one last breath, he kissed her and pushed her body away – watching it vanish into the murky water.

As her body floated away with the current, Jason watched in horror as Marie's face morph into Mia's. He swam towards her, moving as quickly as he could, his panic rising.

Jason felt his foot being jerk downward. He glanced down and saw a ghostly white hand wrapped around his ankle, pulling him. The hand belonged to Conklin, whose stare sent a shiver down Jason's back.

_Now Jason, this only goes two ways. Either you come in and let us make this right, or we're going to have to keep going until we're satisfied._

With a sneer, Conklin dragged Jason down into the depths of the water, watching his former charge struggling to break free.

With the world growing dark, Jason let out a soundless scream into the water as his hands clawed at the water. Oxygen escaped his lungs, sending water into his nose and mouth, filling his lungs. Death was close. He could feel it strangling him as he sank deeper in the water.

Jason looked down at Conklin, catching the vindictive expression on his old handler's face as Jason's vision faded away.

_I'm satisfied now._

Jason bolted upright. His surroundings were pitch black and unfamiliar. In a moment of sheer panic, Jason thought that he was truly dead, finally killed by his handler. A cold sweat broke out across his brow as his heart raced, pounding against his chest.

He leaned back, feeling the cool metal of the headboard against his bare back, catching the red light from the alarm clock on the nightstand next to the bed. Bit by bit, as his panic ceased Jason remembered where he was.

Turin. The apartment.

Conklin was nowhere to be found. The only body of water nearby was the Po, but that was a several kilometers from the apartment. Marie was dead and buried. Mia…

_Mia_, thought Jason, his panic renewed. Rising from the bed, Jason found his way into the hallway.

She had been here when they arrived. He had watched Mia punch in the access code to the lobby and guided him up the winding staircase to the apartment. She had let him explore the modest apartment while she took off her coat and hung it in the closet.

There was light coming from the kitchen, where Mia had stitched up the gash above Jason's ear. As he stepped closer, Jason saw Mia standing by the window with a tumbler in one hand.

"Vodka," Mia said without looking at him. She brought the tumbler to her lips and took a sip of the clear contents. "You said that you didn't like beer."

Jason studied the vodka bottle as he walked past the kitchen counter. He stood next to Mia, glazing at the city below them in silence until he said, "When did you go out?"

"While you were asleep," Mia replied, avoiding his gaze. She offered no further explanation.

Jason leaned against the window, his arms crossed over his chest. "I guess we should get to talking."

"I think it's a little late for that," Mia rebutted before drinking. She finally looked at him, her expression distrustful. "Don't you think?"

Jason shrugged. "No."

"What do you want to know?" asked Mia as she turned towards him, setting the tumbler down on the kitchen table.

Jason shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "How did Phillips know that Nicky was in Salamanca?"

"I have no idea," Mia replied.

"You must have a hunch." Jason tilted his head, studying her. "Well?"

"There are Blackbriar operatives stationed all over the world. She was probably spotted by one of them and they made contact with Aaron." Mia went to reach for the tumbler, but Jason's hand grabbed her wrist.

He shook his head. "Why not send one of them to finish the job? Why you?"

"After you went off the grid, Ward wanted a guarantee and that was me. I was sent in to clean up other people's messes and that included failed missions. Since you already killed Desh, all I had to do was finish off the target," Mia said, her voice hard. "Sending one of the other operatives could have led to further detection and with you missing once again, Blackbriar couldn't afford another screw up."

Jason dropped her wrist and turned away from her. "How did you do it?" he finally asked.

"Why are you asking me this?" asked Mia, her voice tight with emotion.

"Because I need to know," answered Jason. He glanced over his shoulder, his expression dark, almost sad.

Mia nervously toyed with the sleeves of her shirt. "I shot her. It was quick. She was dead by the time she hit the street below."

Danny Zorn's face kept popping into her mind. His smile, his laugh, all of it haunted Mia.

Flashes of her assignment to kill Nicky Parsons flashed into her mind. She could see the look of terror on the other woman's face as she ran for her life.

Then she heard Danny's voice, laughing. Mia looked down at the street below, imaging his face in the crowd.

Her breathing hitched, leaving her breathless for a moment. She closed her eyes.

He wore the same suit he had on the day he left her apartment. As Mia stood in the kitchen, she could feel the blood drain from her face, leaving her skin cold. "Danny," she whispered as quietly as she could.

Danny was dead. Abbott had told her so over twelve weeks ago.

Danny – her Danny – with his light hair and blue eyes. His crooked smile. His voice.

_Just be really mean to me when he's around._

Mia griped the edge of the table as sweat formed at her temples. His voice was so clear, like he was standing behind her.

She was vaguely aware of Jason grabbing her, keeping her upright as he led her to one of the chairs. She felt herself sitting down and the sound of water running in the faucet, filling a glass.

She was running, running after Nicky. Her feet carrying her down the street, dodging corners and people, tailing Nicky as she tried to escape.

The apartment building, towering above her. The fire escape. She had crept up the side of the building and had found Nicky on the roof.

She closed her eyes, hearing Nicky's screams as she pulled the trigger, still wondering why the woman had to die.

And she thought of Danny. Did he feel pain as he died? Was it quick or prolonged? Was she the last thought he had as he exhaled his dying breath? Had he been scared?

Mia opened her eyes as Jason held a glass of water in front of her. He pressed one hand against her forehead, feeling her skin to make sure she wasn't becoming ill.

All the hurt feelings rose to the surface as Mia and Jason sat in the kitchen. Mia felt tears stinging her eyes and her chest ache. She had never let herself mourn Danny's death or even the end of her own life as she knew it.

Her Danny…he was dead, just like Jason's friend. Both of them had died because of her.

"I'm sorry for what I did," she choked. She looked up at Jason as tears streamed down her face. "I killed her. I didn't want to. Phillips sent me the assignment and said she needed to be taken care of. I never asked why and I should have. She was your friend and I took her from you." Mia began to weep, not caring if anyone – even Jason – saw her. "Phillips said that she was a danger to Blackbriar and he told me exactly where she'd be. I could have done something, but instead I found her…"

She felt Jason put his other hand on her shoulder, steadying Mia. "Mia, you didn't have a choice," he said, his voice filled with unease.

"I did," argued Mia as she shook her head. "I could have done something to save her. I had that choice…but I was so angry. Abbott killed him…and I was so…and I killed her."

"Mia, there was nothing you could do about Nicky. Someone would have gotten to her…"

"Danny told me he loved me when he went to Berlin… and I never said anything," choked Mia as she looked up at Jason with watery eyes. "He never knew… Jason he never knew! And he died! I didn't even know how I felt about him… I wanted to feel something so much, but I couldn't! I felt numb…dead inside…and Danny… He didn't know. I should have…"

Jason tried to reach for her, but Mia pushed him away. She stood up and grabbed the tumbler filled with vodka. "Mia," he said as she walked passed him. "Wait."

"I'm going to bed," he heard her say as she disappeared down the hallway. Jason flinched as the door to the bedroom slammed shut.

Alone in the kitchen, Jason's mind focused on the words Mia had said.

_Danny. Berlin. Danny._

Rising to his feet, Jason walked to the living room in search of the lap top he had seen on his way into the apartment. It lay on a coffee table, recently used by Mia as it was still on the desk top. Jason hopped over the back of the couch and landed on the cushions. He snatched the device from the table and settled it into his lap.

_Danny. Berlin._

He mouthed the name, racking his brain for a face, as he opened the internet browser. Jason closed his eyes, seeing the faces of Pamela, Cronin, Abbott, and Nicky.

_Danny, who are you?_

Opening his eyes, Jason began to search the name with the keywords: CIA, Berlin, Landy, and Abbott. It only took a few tries before the name Daniel Zorn popped up in one of his searches. It was a link to the New Haven Register. Curious, Jason clicked on the link.

It was an obituary for one Daniel Zorn, whose photograph peered back at Jason, forever frozen in a smile.

Vague memories surfaced – he had been Conklin's assistant before being reassigned to Abbott. Jason may have briefly seen him during his escapade in Berlin, but he wasn't sure.

_Where else have I seen you?_

The safe house in Paris. It had been daylight and he had come to see Nicky for a quick tryst. It had been foolish and he had known it. They had been kissing when Jason became aware of another person's presence in the safe house.

It had been Zorn.

Jason bowed his head, running his fingers through his hair. Mia must have encountered him during her training, perhaps after. Along the way, they became involved. He must have been to this apartment, given evidence of men's clothing in the bedroom closet.

_Is that the reason why Abbott killed you_, Jason wondered. He heard a creak in the apartment. Jason looked over his shoulder to see that no one was there. Turning back the screen, Jason erased the browser history and set the computer down on the table. Grabbing the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch, Jason lay down and settled into the cushions of the couch, willing himself to go back to sleep.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**  
_Washington, DC_

Cronin was beyond mad. In fact, he was even beyond enraged. There were no words for the amount of anger that had built up within him.

He sat at the desk, his arm aching and his head about to explode. The agent in front of him looked nervous, waiting for the fall out.

"Are you sure?" asked Cronin, his voice hard.

The agent nodded. "They confirmed it ten minutes ago."

Cronin balled the fist on his good arm and let out a strangled moan. "And they're sure?" He was in disbelief of the information that this poor kid had to rely to him. _Of course they're sure_, thought Cronin. _We're the fucking CIA! _

The nights had been long for the past few days. Cronin had only left Langley to go back to his apartment and shower, only to return to the office with coffee and food in his hands. He had been on the phone with the President, lawyers, the Cabinet, Congress. Cronin was handling all of it on his own, trying to maintain composure as the Agency hatched out a plan.

What Tom Cronin needed the most was Pamela Landy. She was his miracle worker, the one who stayed calm and made everything work out. The Medias touch.

But she was dead.

"What happened?" asked Cronin as he gathered his thoughts. He looked up at the kid, trying not to seem angry.

The agent shifted his weight from one foot to the next. "It was a massive heart attack."

"Who will perform the autopsy?"

"Dr. Webster."

Nathan Webster – he could trust him. Pamela had trusted him enough to put Jason Bourne under his medical supervision. He had been nothing but loyal to both of them.

"Where is he?"

"En route from the ME's office," replied the agent.

So, Dr. Albert Hirsch was dead. He was an older man, his health not what it once was. The blow of his crimes being discovered had made him weak. And once the doctor's secret behind Blackbriar was revealed, it must have been too much for him to handle.

"Well," said Cronin as he shuffled some files. "I hope that son of a bitch was in a lot of pain."

* * *

_New York City_

Noah Vosen secretly wished he was dead. He could smell the raw stink of paranoia coming off his expensive suit as he walked next to his lawyer. With his feet hitting the marble steps of the Federal prosecutor's office building in Manhattan, Vosen felt the knots in his stomach tighten.

It was his only choice, telling the government what they wanted to hear. He pictured Cronin's face sitting in the court room as Vosen admitted his wrong-doings. Would the man smile in victory? Or would he be angry because all of this resulted in that bitch's death?

When he heard that Landy was dead, he was glad. Elated, even. She deserved what she got, by exposing her fellow colleagues and leaving them out to dry while she got _his_job. Vosen wished there was a way to implicate her in Treadstone and Blackbriar, but because of her death, Pamela Landy would probably receive sainthood.

"Now, you understand that by entering this plea, you are subject to house arrest – up to five years – and the stripping of all Agency privileges?" asked his lawyer as they made their way up the steps. His lawyer turned to him. "Noah?"

Vosen shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded. "I understand."

"Your passport will be revoked and any off-shore accounts will be subject to investigation, if the government sees fit," continued his lawyer.

He understood everything the lawyer was telling him and he didn't care. Just as long as he avoided jail time, Vosen was a happy man.

As they entered the building, they saw the federal prosecutors standing in the lobby. Vosen froze mid-step upon seeing a vaguely familiar face standing away from the crowd. Vosen squinted, trying to get a better look at the man's face as he and his lawyer walked by.

_Fuck you, fuck Landy_, thought Vosen as his anger rose. _And fuck Jason Bourne._

"Noah?" said his lawyer. "This way."

Vosen heard his name being called as the room went silent. He couldn't go down this way, there was no way. Vosen took a step back, his heels clicking on the floor.

"Noah, come on," said the lawyer through gritted teeth. "They're waiting."

_You've worked too hard for this to happen to you_, thought Vosen as he took another step back. As an officer walked by, Vosen grabbed the man's arm and twisted it behind his back. With a flick of his wrist, Vosen had the officer's gun in his hands and pressed to his temple.

"Vosen!" someone yelled. "Put the gun down."

Vosen pulled down on the hammer. "I am not going down like this. Not like Albert. Not like Ward. I am not a coward!"

"No one is saying you're a coward, Noah," pleaded his lawyer as he reached for his gun. "We just want to make the situation easier on you."

Vosen let out a high-pitched laugh. "Easier? You think this is easier on me?" He pushed the officer way, wildly pointing his gun around the lobby. He hadn't noticed the people screaming and ducking behind benches and doorways fear written all over their faces.

They didn't know what real fear was.

"I've lost everything," snapped Vosen. "Everything I worked for. Everything that _I_deserve!" He saw a security guard coming from behind him. Vosen swung around, firing the gun. He saw red spraying out of the man's neck and onto the wall.

As a commotion erupted, Vosen took the chance to run. He hurried down the steps of the building, ignoring the chill of New York hitting his face. Each footstep meant freedom, if he was able to evade law enforcement.

If only he had been quicker to get to Landy before she faxed those papers. He should have killed her as soon as he saw the last fax go through and Bourne…

Vosen ducked into an alleyway and gagged on the assault of raw sewage attack his senses. He leaned against the wall, coughing, before getting on his feet again.

On the horizon was the East River, the very river where Jason Bourne met a watery grave. Deep down, Vosen knew that he wasn't dead. There was no way that the son of a bitch was dead. As Vosen watched the news reports from his cell, he just knew it. No body – nothing. It was like Vosen had shot at a ghost, letting the other asset disappear into the night.

He heard a car back firing or at least Vosen thought he did. He let out a scream as a bullet entered his left shoulder, cutting through skin, muscle and bone. Vosen stumbled forward, hitting the pavement with a thud. The gravel bit into his cheek, scraping his skin.

"Fuck…" he groaned as he turned over on his back. Vosen let go out of the gun to clutch his shoulder. He looked up at the sky, seeing a shadow over him. "Who sent you?" Vosen spat. "Was it Ezra? Phillips? Or did you come on your own to make sure your secrets died with me? Desh should have taken care of him…as soon as he found her." He let out a cry of pain. "I did everything I could and none of you can see that!"

His assailant remained silent, only moving to place the end of the gun on Vosen's forehead.

"I know you," Vosen said as he studied the operative's face, his eyes widening in shock. "I know you – you were in Berlin."

"Noah," said the assailant. "You're seeing ghosts."

He pulled the trigger.

* * *

_London, England _

Phillips sat his couch with a glass of scotch in one hand and his cell phone in the other. He pressed the rim of the glass to his lips, not taking a sip, but thinking. Three events that had unfolded in the last thirty-six hours had the man shaken.

The first was that Hirsh had succumbed to a fatal heart. The second that Vosen had been successfully assassinated. The third was that Odin, one of his operatives in Nice, had spotted Bourne as he boarded a train to Italy.

The asset had rearranged his trip and had boarded the same departing train. He had lost track of them as the train entered Italy. Odin was checking each major stop to see if he could locate Bourne.

"Are you sure it was Bourne?" asked Phillips as he poured scotch in a glass.

"Yes," replied Odin. "I saw a news report on him a few nights ago."

Phillips swirled the glass, watching the amber liquid in the glass. "Was he with anyone?"

"There was a woman in front of him as he boarded the train," Odin said. "I didn't get a good look at her."

Phillips inhaled sharply as he braced himself against the counter in the kitchen. He stared at the amber liquid in front of him, taunting him. "It's a go."

"And the woman?" asked Odin, his voice cold and calculating. "If she's with him?"

Phillips reached for the glass and took his first sip. A pang of regret ate at his insides, as he said "Dead. Both of them."

He didn't want Mia to die, but it was the only choice Phillips had. If someone had found out about her, aside from that dead asset in Lisbon and Jason Bourne, everything would collapse. It was bad enough that three of the key figures of Operation Blackbriar were dead. If Bourne was able to expose Mia to the Agency, Phillips would find himself in the same situation as Kramer, or worse, Vosen.

Now, all Aaron Phillips could do was waiting for a phone call confirming Bourne and Mia's deaths.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**  
_Turin, Italy_

Mia was cooking breakfast when she heard Jason moving from the couch. She looked up to see him in the doorway, shirtless and wearing a pair of Danny's old sweat pants.

The rogue operative looked rumpled, his hair sticking up at awkward angles. One of the pillows on imprinted a line onto his cheek while he had slept. His well-muscled torso was marred by scars – some old, some new. She caught a glimpse of one on his lower back as he moved passed her to grab a cup of coffee.

The scar, still pink, was caused by a bullet and given the location of the wound, it would have been life threatening. Surely, Bourne hadn't tended it to himself.

As she watched him pour coffee into a mug, Mia concluded that Pamela Landy had found him the night that he disappeared into the East River.

_Was that how she convinced you to work for her?_Mia thought as Bourne sipped the hot liquid. He turned towards her, not noticing Mia cast her eyes away from him.

"Morning," he said, his voice still thick with sleep.

Mia nodded. "Morning," she replied. "I hope you like your eggs scrambled."

Jason pulled a stool up to the counter and nodded. "Scrambled is fine," he said as he set down his coffee mug. He watched as Mia grabbed a plate and piled half of the contents of the frying pan onto the ceramic surface. She pushed the plate towards him.

"Forks are behind you," Mia said as she began make a plate for herself. She shut off the stove and brought her plate next to Bourne, who had retrieved two forks from the drawer.

In silence, the operatives ate their breakfast.

"Did you ever bring Danny here?" Jason asked, his voice hesitant.

Mia looked down at her plate and nodded. "Once," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "It was a while ago…before he died."

"Ward killed him…" Jason began before Mia's sharp tone cut him off.

"Jason!" She took a deep breath and softened her voice, "I don't want to talk about it, okay?" Mia raised her brows before turning back to her plate, picking at the contents.

Jason nodded. "Sorry," he muttered.

"It's fine," she replied. She turned her head to the window, looking out onto the city.

Mia had purchased the apartment under the pretense that she was a businessman's secretary. He was looking for a small, furnished apartment for when he or his associates were in town for business. No one raised a brow when Danny had accompanied her to sign the paperwork, using false identification. Despite this, he had only come to the apartment with her once, while he was passing through to Naples.

It had been one of their many secrets and one day, she hoped that the apartment would come in handy.

"We should get you some hair dye," she said at last. Jason looked up at her, his eyes widening. "To change your appearance."

Jason cocked his head, studying her. "What about you?" he asked.

"What about me?" Mia said as she reached for his empty plate. "I don't exist…remember?" she added as she went to put the dishes in the sink.

Jason nodded in agreement. "True," he replied as he rose up from the stool. He came up behind Mia as she washed the dishes, feeling the heat of her body radiating against his. He struggled against the desire to brush an errant lock of hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear.

Mia had turned her body and was facing him, her eyes searching his face. Jason stood still as she tilted her face upward towards his and felt her cool breath against his skin.

"Anything else?" Mia whispered.

Jason brought his lips closer to Mia, gently pressing his lips against the side of her mouth. He moved back a few inches to catch the stunned expression on Mia's face. "I'm sorry," Jason apologized. He opened his mouth to say something else when Mia's lips caught his own. Jason froze for a moment, his eyes open as he felt Mia's lips on his.

He felt her arms wrapping around his naked waist, clinging to him. Jason had almost forgotten what it was like to have intimate human contact.

Jason closed his eyes and parted his lips, letting Mia's tongue explore his mouth. Jason held her closer as his fingers threaded themselves through her hair. His tongue moved across her lower lip, causing her to sigh against his mouth.

As suddenly as it began, Mia broke the kiss. She leaned back against the counter, holding a hand to her swollen lips. They stared at each other, embarrassment beginning to overwhelm them both.

"Um…" she stammered. "I'm going to go get my jacket. To go out."

"Right," Jason agreed as he moved, accidentally blocking Mia's way. "Sorry," he said. "I'll finish my coffee."

"Okay," Mia said awkwardly as she walked passed Jason. "Right," she muttered as she disappeared to the bedroom to grab her belongings.

"Right," he said to no one. He heard the click of Mia's boots on the floor and the jingling of her keys.

She appeared at the foyer, wearing the jacket she had left Algeciras in, a pair of jeans that were tucked into her boots, and sweater. She pulled a knit cap onto her head before noticing that Jason was staring at her. Mia flushed.

"I'm going," she announced, her voice uncertain.

Jason nodded. "I'm staying right here."

Mia stared at him, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Why did you do that, her expression seemed to say. She grabbed the door knob and jerked it, realizing it was locked. Mia swore under her breath and unlocked the door. As she left the apartment, she took one last look at Jason and shut the door.

Jason allowed a sigh to escape his lips as he leaned over the counter.

* * *

Mia stood in the cosmetics aisle of a run-of-the-mill grocery store, staring at a wall of hair dye. She knew within seconds which dye she was going to purchase, but in truth – she was stalling.

She had run errands all morning to avoid going back to the apartment.

Bourne.

Mia bought him new clothes since the ones he had were soiled in blood or ripped. Danny's clothes wouldn't be much use to the operative as he was several inches taller than Jason and at least twenty-five pounds lighter.

Bourne's face drifted in and out of her head. The chiseled features, his eyes.

She could picture him pacing around the apartment, shirtless, his muscles flexing as he moved. The tight stomach. The broad shoulders and chest. His narrow waist and the feeling of his skin as she wrapped her arms around him.

His lips.

Mia shook her head, frustrated. "Snap out of it," she whispered to herself as she reached for a box of hair dye.

A man came down the aisle with a basket that was almost filled the brim. He was of average height with bleached blonde hair and dark eyes.

"Scusi," he said in a low voice as he reached for something on the shelf next to the hair dye. The man glanced at Mia, giving her an approving once over before smiling.

Mia felt her blood run cold. "Nessun problema," she replied back as she stepped back, keeping herself in check.

All the items in his basket screamed asset: a first aid kit, batteries, non-perishable food…

The asset had no idea that she was one of them. To him, she was just another girl in the grocery store trying to select a color to dye her hair.

Quickly, Mia left the aisle and rushed to check out, her heart pounding.

_How did you find us?_Mia thought as she paid. Without grabbing her change, Mia left the grocery store and headed to the apartment.

Shortly after settling into the Turin apartment, she took extreme, but necessary measures to ensure that no one knew about her purchase. Danny had helped her set up surveillance equipment in the safe houses located in Naples, Rome, Milan, Florence, and Venice. She programmed the equipment from her apartment in Lisbon, unnoticed by Blackbriar officials.

When an asset coded in, an alert was sent to the cell phone, detailing who was there. An alert was also sent to her the lap top she had wiped clean and tossed into the bay before meeting with Bourne and Paz.

If curiosity struck, Mia would gather intel on the asset. Usually, she ignored them because she never had anything to worry about.

The cell phone was sitting in a drawer back at the apartment, stashed under a false bottom.

Punching in the code to the lobby door, Mia cursed herself for being so careless. The lock clicked and she pulled the door open, charging through the lobby and upstairs.

Jason was sitting on the couch, flipping through channels on the television when Mia came into the apartment. When Jason turned his head to greet her, he caught the expression on her face.

"What is it?" Jason asked as he turned off the television and rose from the couch.

Mia dropped the bags at his feet. "I got you clothes," she said, breathlessly. "Clean ones. The hair dye is in the smaller bag. I hope you don't mind going brunette for a while."

"Mia," Jason said as he rose from the couch. "What happened?"

Mia took off her knit cap and balled it up in her hand, squeezing. She spun on her heel and made a dash for the bedroom. She could hear Jason following her as Mia pulled open the top drawer of the dresser and loosened the false bottom. The cell phone was still there. She powered up the device as Jason came into the room.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

Before she could answer, the phone began beeping. Mia flipped open the screen and saw the new text message.  
_  
Odin. Stationed: Nice. Current Assignments: None. _

"We have a problem," Mia said, showing Jason the cell phone screen. He snatched it from her hand, studying it. When he finally looked up at her, his blue eyes were blazing with questions. "When I bought the apartment, Danny helped me install surveillance in all the safe houses located in Italy. I programmed the alert so that it would go to that cell phone and my old lap top. Usually, I didn't think much of it because I was hardly here. But things changed…"

Jason handed the phone back to her. "Did he see you?" he asked.

"He was standing right next to me!" exclaimed Mia, clutching the phone. "He had no idea who I was, but I left quickly. He didn't follow me."

Jason slammed his hands down onto the dresser. "Well shit, Mia!" Jason yelled in frustration. "We'll have to run."

"Run to where, Jason?" Mia argued back. "We have _nowhere_to run!"

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Jason fired back. "Stay here until he finds us?"

"He won't find us," Mia countered as she pushed passed Jason, going to the living room. "He won't even know where to look."

Jason followed. "What are you saying? That he's here by coincidence?"

"Perhaps," Mia said as she grabbed the box of hair dye. She shrugged. "Jason, I have no idea why Odin is in Turin but he had no idea that I am one of you. He is probably on his way back to his station and decided to stop over for a day or two."

Jason crossed his arms. "And if he's not?"

"Then we take care of it and run like hell," Mia sighed. She shoved the box at Jason. "But first things first. We need to alter your appearance in case Phillips expands the APB that he has out on you."

* * *

One hour and a box of dark brown hair dye later, Jason was towel drying his newly darkened hair. Mia had helped him make sure that not a lock of his dirty blonde hair was left untouched before he shooed her out of the bathroom.

Jason caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror and for a moment, he didn't recognize himself. The dark hair gave his features a different cast and brought out his blue eyes.

The bathroom door slid open. Mia poked her head in and nodded with approval.

"It doesn't look bad," she said as she came into the bathroom and hopped up onto the counter.

Jason looked at himself again. "I feel like I've had a head transplant," he said.

Mia shook her head. "No," she said as she looked at him through the mirror. "It suits you." Mia flashed a rare smile and reached into the pocket of her jeans, pulling out a pair of glasses. "These are for you."

Jason took the glasses, studying them. "Good thinking," he replied as he put them on. The lenses were just plastic, but no one would notice the difference. Jason took the glasses off, setting them on the bathroom counter. He turned to Mia and nodded. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said.

They stared at each other for a while, thoughts and unanswered questions racing through each of their heads.

"Mia," Jason said at last, her name rolling off his tongue. "I wanted-"

Mia shook her head as she slid off the counter. "Jason, it's fine," she replied. "You don't need to apologize about earlier." She moved towards the door.

Jason blocked her exit, staring down at her. He brushed an errant lock of dark hair off her shoulder and tucked it behind her ear, feeling the soft strands under his fingertips. As he moved his hand, his fingers brushed against her lobe. Jason traced the soft line of her jaw, cupping her cheek in his hand. He lowered his head, his lips just inches from Mia's, and whispered, "I wasn't going to apologize."

Jason kissed her, crushing her lips against his.

Mia parted her lips, allowing his tongue to gain entrance. Cupping her face with his hands, Jason pulling her closer to him, kissing her as deeply as he could.

He felt Mia tugging at his shirt, bringing it up from his waist as her finger nails gently racked his skin. Jason shivered at her touch and felt his skin rise. As they kissed, Jason raised his arms over his head to let Mia remove his shirt. Their lips parted, leaving both of them panting and staring at each other.

The last time Jason had been with a woman…it seemed like another life time. He realized how much he missed being intimate with someone.

He watched as Mia let his shirt slip from her fingers. He continued staring at her, only half-listening to the sound of the shirt landing on the floor, waiting for her next move. Jason stood still as she lifted her shirt over her head, tossing it aside.

Her body was not what he expected. She didn't have the well-muscled physique like he did. Instead, she was soft curves and pale skin, marred with bruises and cuts. He could see the healing gunshot wound over the waist of her jeans.

Breathing heavily with desire, Jason took a step towards her. He brought his hand to her face, his palm caressing the curve of her jaw. Mia leaned into his touch and closed her eyes, as Jason traced her bottom lip with the tip of his thumb.

Mia's eyes opened, watching and waiting for his next move. When she opened her mouth to speak, Jason pulled her to him, his lips capturing hers once more as his arms pulled her body to his. He felt Mia winding her arms around his shoulders, her fingers stroking the back of his neck.

They made their way towards the bed, leaving a trail of discarded clothing in their wake. By the time, Jason sat on the mattress; he was naked and fully aroused as Mia stood in front of him. He swallowed audibly as she crawled over his body, her bare breasts gliding over his chest as she lowered her lips to his.

Jason moved his hands to Mia's hips, caressing her skin, his sense of urgency building with each touch. He broke the kiss when he slipped inside of her, closing his eyes and uttered a husky groan.

He opened his eyes to watch Mia's hips rise and fall. Shockwaves flooded Jason's heated body as his eyes were fixated on Mia's every motion as she rode him. Within moments, Jason found a rhythm to match hers.

When she cried out for the first time, Jason dug his fingernails into her, urging her hips to keep moving as the muscles deep inside of her shuddered around Jason's erection.

He flipped them over, Jason's hands drawing Mia closer to him as he continued thrusting into her, and silently wished that this moment would never end.

It did end eventually with mind shattering results as Jason found Mia on top of him once more. He urged her to go faster, hoping she would respond to his movements. Jason heard her gasp in response. He wanted to touch her longer, feel her naked body next to his, and impale himself deep inside of her.

Jason closed his eyes, seeing stars behind his eyelids as he climaxed. He heard himself let out a strangled moan as he released himself inside of her.

He laid there on the bed, catching his breath as Mia straddled him. This is what he needed, but he was too afraid to let anyone else get close enough after Marie. Jason felt Mia roll off of him and the bed shift as she laid next to him, her body radiating heat and fulfilled desire.

A sense of calm washed over him, followed by exhaustion and without a fight, Jason let sleep claim him.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**  
_Langley, Virginia_

After Hirsch's death, it was only a matter of hours before Cronin got word that Vosen had been killed while trying to flee the court house in New York.

The news had been playing constantly on the screen in the research room. Cronin had gone to get a cup of coffee and take a painkiller when the news story caught his eye. Forgetting the coffee, he made his way back into the room as the news caster announced that Vosen was dead.

The phones began ringing off the hook with officials demanding to know what happened. Cronin, weary to the bone, had no answers. This – heading an operation such as this – was not his job, but Landy's. It was what she was good at. He was only there as her right hand man, the support she needed when things got hairy.

Frustrated, Cronin retired to his office and shut the door, hoping to drown out the chaos in the next room.

An hour later, Hirsch's lawyers had decided to release their deceased client's personal files, the very same that the CIA was trying to get a hold of for weeks. It seemed that the old man's lawyers finally stopped fight the enviable and handed over everything they could.

It was then that Cronin and Hamilton began to scour over the documents deep into the late night hours. Most of it made sense, as Hirsch kept many foreign accounts, most of them located in the Cayman Islands and Switzerland.

Each of them seemed very clear, cut, and dry. They were under his name, no co-signer, and all had large amounts of money deposited into them.

All, but one.

One of the Swiss accounts, based in a bank in Zürich, had no balance, but the account was listed as an active safety deposit box. Hirsch had used a false name – Dr. Morris Panov – and had a co-signer by the name of Evelyn Panova.

Not even Hirsch's lawyers knew what was in the safety deposit box.

"What could be in there?" asked Hamilton as he looked up from the folder he was reading through. He looked as tired as Cronin, his under eyes bruising from lack of sleep.

Cronin rubbed his forehead with his good arm, grimacing. "My guess is classified documents," he said. "I know that Bourne was able to give Pam enough to take down Hirsch, Vosen, and Kramer, but there must be something different about what Hirsch has."

"Maybe records of operatives and their missions?" suggested Hamilton. "After all, Hirsch must have kept most the records from Operation Treadstone and Blackbriar. He probably had medical records, information on how the assets handled conditioning; their assignments…pretty much everything. If it fell into our hands, everyone involved with Blackbriar would be at risk."

Cronin looked up, surprised. "What Bourne gave Pam was enough to get convictions on Hirsch, Vosen and Kramer," he said absently. "But if those documents exist…"

"Who knows what would happen," Hamilton finished. He pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose, staring at Cronin, who was deep in thought. "What are you thinking, Tom?"

"We need to get into that box," Cronin said. "And quickly."

Hamilton nodded in agreement. His computer beeped at him. With a few clicks of the mouse, Hamilton began to grin. "I found our Evelyn Panova."

"Show me," Cronin said.

Hamilton spun the computer around and watched Cronin's reaction.

"We need to get to Zürich…_now_," Cronin ordered.

* * *

He was firing a gun, the bullets lodging themselves into the body of Vladimir Nevski. Over the sound of gunfire, Jason could hear the screams of Nevski's wife – her voice filled with despair and agony as her husband fell the floor, dead.

Jason turned the barrel of the gun on her, aiming for her temple.

_No, no, no! No, no, no!_

Her desperate cries were cut short as the bullet penetrated her skull. With lifeless eyes staring back at him, Jason watched her body fall beside her husband's. Jason stood over their bodies, watching blood flow onto the carpet, staining it red.

With a fluid motion, Jason wiped the murder weapon down and placed it in Mrs. Nevski's hands.

"Nobody does the right thing," stated an achingly familiar voice.

Jason turned his head and took a step backward upon seeing Marie, looking the exact same way as she did when they first met. His breath caught in disbelief.

She was taking in the scene with a disappointed expression, carefully stepping over the dead bodies.

"What are you doing here?" asked Jason. "You're not supposed to be here."

She looked up at him. "But am I," Marie replied as she knelt down next to Mrs. Nevski's body. Gently placing a hand on the dead woman's face, Marie closed her eyes.

"This isn't right!" Jason grabbed Marie by the elbow, his panic rising. He letting go as he felt the warmth of her body under his gloved hand, as if she burnt him. Staring at Marie in horror, Jason took a step back. "You're dead."

Marie stood in place, staring at him. "I am," she whispered.

"Then why are you here? I didn't even know you when I was assigned this mission."

She tilted her head, her hair falling into her face. "It's your dream. Your head, your memory," Marie replied as she took a step towards him.

"I don't want you to be here," Jason whispered. He felt Marie's hand touch his arm, making his skin crawl. Jerking his arm away, Jason pushed her back. "You aren't supposed to be here! Not now, not ever. This happened long before I met you."

Marie grabbed his hand, pressing it between her palms. It was a gesture that used to give him comfort, but now it all felt wrong. "Don't you see, Jason?" Marie said; bring his hand to her cheek. She closed her eyes, feeling his against her own. "All of your actions, your decisions, your fight – it is all intertwined. You decided on your fate." She stared into his eyes as she kissed his fingertips, her lips cold to the touch and the smell of decay coming from her mouth.

Feeling the bile rising in his throat, Jason shoved Marie away from him, watching her fall to the ground. This was not his Marie – not this twisted caricature. "You are not real," Jason hissed. "You are not Marie. She is dead. She died in Goa…I saw her."

He heard her suppress a sob as she lay on the floor, blood soaking her jacket. "I am real," he heard her say. "I am real, Jason!"

"You are _dead_," Jason yelled.

Marie grabbed the gun cradled in Mrs. Nevski's hand before Jason could react. She spun around, aiming the gun at his stomach and fired.

The force of the bullet sent him staggering backward, crashing into a dresser. Through the white hot pain, Jason gasped as he slid to the floor. Through dazed vision, he watched Marie get to her feet, her eyes as cold as any operative's, and walk towards him.

"Marie…" he winced as he clutched his stomach, trying to slow the bleeding. Jason felt her looming over him, watching him. He felt her hand in his hair, grabbing it hard and jerking his head upward to look at her face.

Marie sneered at him before flinging his head back into the dresser. She began walking away from him, gun in hand, her boots clicking on hardwood flooring.

Jason blinked, realizing that they were in Turin. The bodies of the Nevskis were gone; the hotel room vanished, replaced by the furniture in the bedroom of Mia's apartment.

Marie stalked across the room, towards the bed, the gun at her side. "Don't forget about me," she said harshly

Jason staggered to his feet, the pain in his stomach intensifying with each movement. As he rose to his feet, Jason saw that there were two people asleep in the bed. He closed his eyes as a wave of pain almost overcame him. As the dark rescinded from his vision, Jason saw the occupants of the bed.

A couple slept peacefully, unaware of Jason and Marie. The woman rested against the man's shoulder with her arm draped over his stomach where their hands met, fingers entwined. The man's cheek rested against her dark hair as he dozed, his other arm pulling her to his body.

The women let out a sigh and nuzzled this shoulder, pulling her closer to him. The man unconsciously squeezed her fingers with his own as his lips curved upward.

Realizing that he was Jason realized that he was looking at himself and Mia.

"Don't forget about me," Marie repeated as she raised the gun, pointing it at the sleeping couple. "Don't forget about me."

Jason struggled to make his way over to her. "Marie, don't do it," he pleaded. "Marie!"

She looked at him. "You're going to forget about me," she sneered. "Because of _her_." Marie's finger slid to the trigger.

"No Marie," Jason yelled. As the gun went off, he screamed, "Don't!"

Jason let out a shout as his eyes snapped open. His realized he was back in bed with Mia, safe and sound. There was no Marie wielding a gun or any other dangers lurking in the apartment.

He felt a hand on his arm, touching him tentatively. "Jason?" asked Mia as she rose up on her arm. Jason could see the expression of concern on her face in the dimly light bedroom. "What's wrong?"

Before he could answer, Jason could feel the contents of his stomach rising up, churning in nauseous waves. He sat up, covering his mouth, desperately looking for a place to throw up. He retched, holding back the bile in his mouth.

"Bathroom," Mia ordered.

Jason leaped out of the bed and ran into the bathroom. Jason dropped to his knees as another wave of nausea assault him. Gripping the sides of the toilet seat, he vomited into the porcelain basin. His throat burned as Jason continued to expel his stomach contents.

Jason dropped his head onto the toilet seat with a moan, exhausted and not caring where he laid his head. With a shaky hand, he flushed the toilet and closed his eyes, listening to the water go down the pipes.

He heard Mia approaching him. Jason listened to her turn on the sink to fill a cup up with water. He opened his eyes and got to his feet, his body aching in protest. Jason walked over to the sink and leaned against the counter, his head bowed.

Without a word, Mia slid the cup over to him. Jason picked it up and took a sip. He could feel Mia watching him while he gargled the water and spit it into the sink. Jason reached for a toothbrush and after loading it up with toothpaste, began to brush his teeth to get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth. As he brushed, Jason watched Mia refill the cup with cold water.

Once he was done, Jason slowly drank the contents of the cup. As he set the empty cup down, he caught his reflection in the mirror. The person staring back at him looked pale and tried. Jason recognized the dark circles under his eyes along with his two-day-old stubble.

He remembered doing this exact action more than twelve weeks ago, standing in front of the mirror. In Goa. Marie was asleep in the other room, oblivious to his recurring dreams and the voices in his head.

_Marie._ Jason's stomach ached. He reminded himself that it wasn't truly her in his nightmare, just a reflection of his deepest, darkest fears.

Mia silently beckoned him back to the bed, where Jason laid down next to her. His limbs were still shaking and a familiar ache returned to his head. Jason ran his fingers through his hair as an unsteady breath escaped his lips.

"Some dream," Mia finally said as she pulled up the blankets, covering them both. She flopped down on the pillow, tilting her head up to look at Jason. "Who were you dreaming about?"

Jason shook his head. "Not a dream," he breathed. "Nightmare." He settled against the pillows and looked down at Mia. "It wasn't her. She would never…" Jason's voice trailed off as he turned away.

Would she? Would she hurt another human being without cause? Jason shivered at the thought.

"What was her name?" asked Mia, her voice puncturing his thoughts. She cocked her head as Jason looked at her.

Jason felt Mia's hand reach for his. "Marie."

"Where is she now?"

Jason knew she knew the answer. He told her anyway: "She's dead."

"Did you love her?"

Jason nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat. He swallowed with great difficulty. "I didn't love her the way I wanted to," he whispered.

"I don't think that mattered to her," Mia whispered back as she rose up on her arm.

Jason turned to her and saw the look in her eyes – worry. He pressed his lips to her forehead. "You're probably right," he muttered against her skin before moving his lips back to her mouth, kissing her again. As the kiss deepened, they fell back in the bed, shutting out the rest of the world – if only for a few hours.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**  
_London, England_

Phillips was exiting the London office when one of the office aides shouted his name from the top of the steps. He stopped and turned around. "Yes?" he asked. "What is it?"

The aide, a pretty blonde girl whose name he couldn't remember, handed him a folded piece of paper. "This just came from you," she said, breathlessly. "From New York."

Phillips looked at the piece of the paper, a fax from Ezra Kramer's offices, and arched a brow. He looked up at the aide and nodded. "Thank you," he said as he turned towards the street, where a taxi waited for him.

As he walked towards the taxi, Phillips opened the fax and scanned itself contents. He stopped mid-step, his stomach plummeting with dread. Crumbling the fax in his fist, Phillips got into the cab, squeezing the paper until he arrived home.

He took out his cell phone and dialed the last call. As soon the recipient picked up, Phillips demanded, "What bank account in Zürich?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," said Ezra Kramer.

Phillip snarled in anger. "Hirsch was your puppet," he hissed.

"I didn't think that Albert would have been capable of doing this under our noses," Kramer stated.

Phillips put the crumpled fax down on the kitchen counter and stared at it. "How did we not know about this?"

"It seems our friend learned a few tricks from our operatives," Kramer grumbled. "Check your email."

Taking the phone, Phillips walked towards his office. "How so?" he asked as he sat in front of his lap top, turning it on.

"You'll see," Kramer said.

After the lap top booted up, Phillips went to his email and saw one from Kramer, coming from a private account. He opened the email's attachments and watched the PDF load. In silence, Phillips saw Hirsch's face appear on a passport belonging to a Morris Panov.

He wasn't terribly surprised to learn that Hirsch had used a false name in creating the bank account in Zürich. Hirsch wasn't the first and most certainly wasn't going to be the last Blackbriar official.

Phillips was about to reply when he saw a familiar face on a second passport.

The blonde bob with hot pink tips threw him off as did the nose ring, but she still had the same hazel eyes and fair skin. Phillips realized that he was staring at Mia's face.

"I assume you recognize Evelyn Panova?" Kramer said as he cleared his throat.

Phillips felt rage boiling inside of him. "I do," he replied through gritted teeth.

"What are you going to do about it?"

"One of our operatives spotted Jason Bourne boarding a train to Italy," Phillips answered. "I ordered him to find him and get rid of him."

Kramer laughed. "It's a suicide mission, Aaron! Haven't you learned from past mistakes?" Kramer paused, his tone turning seriously. "Bourne is not easily stopped and now that Mia is with him – whom I am betting that she is – it will be very difficult to stop them."

"Even our operatives make mistakes," Phillips said aloud.

"Very rarely," Kramer replied. "They have always done things on purpose and Bourne is no exception. Neither is your Mia."

Phillip remained silent, resisting the urge to hurl his phone against the wall.

"If you hear of anything, just do what you need to do," Kramer said. "We'll be in touch."

The call ended and Phillips slammed the phone down on the desk, feeling the screen shatter. Deep down he knew where Mia and Bourne would be headed, if they hadn't left already.

"I need to be in Zürich," Phillips said to no one.

* * *

_Sterling, Virginia_

Cronin was standing on an escalator when his cell phone rang. He handed his brief case to Hamilton and dug for the phone in his coat. "Cronin," he said into the phone as it picked up.

"Phillips booked a flight to Zürich," said Kim, one of the research techs.

Cronin nodded. "When?" he asked as he and his team stepped off the escalator and began making their way through the terminal.

"Twenty minutes ago," she replied. "His secretary booked the flight."

"He knows about the bank account," Cronin said. He blinked. "Keep an eye on him. I'll call you when we land." Cronin hung up the phone and shoved it into his pocket. Hamilton handed the brief case back to him. "It seems that Phillips is meeting us in Zürich."

Hamilton didn't seem surprised. "Who do you think told him about the bank account?"

"Kramer," Cronin replied. "I bet money on it."

"His phones are being monitored," Hamilton said.

Cronin arched a brow. "Kramer is clever. He probably has unregistered phone and that's how he told Phillips about the bank account. Regardless, Phillips probably knows that Mia Campos is Evelyn Panova and he will be pissed. Any word on Bourne?"

"Not a thing," Hamilton replied. "That's probably a good thing though."

Cronin nodded in agreement. "Usually."

"What are you thinking?"

Cronin stopped walking and adjusted his sling, feeling the muscles getting sore from carrying the brief case. "I'm thinking that if Bourne hasn't already arrived in Zürich, that we should be expecting him soon."

* * *

_Turin, Italy_

Jason had woken up to Mia's side of the bed being empty. He turned his head to gaze at the rumpled sheets and the depression from her head on the pillow. Jason's hand moved over her side, feeling the cool sheets under his fingertips.

He had done the same the night before, except his index finger ran down Mia's bare back after they laid in bed, tracing the curve of her spine and feeling her skin under the pad of his finger.

It was after they had slept together for the second time. The guilty feelings that he felt had vanished and Jason finally surrendered to his feelings.

There was still Marie. The loss of her still made him heart sick, though it hurt less as each day passed. Until he had encountered Mia in the crowded night club, Jason hadn't thought of another woman in the way he had thought of Marie.

Jason had heard Mia sigh as his finger reached the bottom of her back. He saw her turn her head and look at him with a sleepy grin before rolling over to him and nestling herself in the curve of his body.

"Don't get soft on me now," she had whispered into his shoulder. He had chuckled, wrapping his arm around her, pulling her closer to him.

Jason snapped out of his reverie as he heard Mia approaching the bedroom. He lifted his head as she came into the room, dressed in jeans and a grey sweater. She had a grave expression on her face as she moved toward the bed. Jason sat up and said, "What is it?"

"Hirsch is dead," Mia replied as she sat down on the bed, staring out the window.

Jason felt the words escape him as he sat in a numb silence. "How?" he finally asked.

"The news is saying it was a heart attack," Mia answered.

Jason felt like the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. His fingers gripped the fabric of the sheets, his knuckles turning white.

Hirsch was really dead and it wasn't by an asset sent to kill him. The old man's body gave out from under him.

_God, I hope it hurt like hell,_ Jason thought as he stared at the sheets.

"That's not all," Jason heard her say, snapping him back to reality. He looked up, seeing Mia staring at him.

"What else is there?" Jason asked.

Mia turned her body towards him and tapped the material of her jeans with her fingers. "Vosen was assassinated in New York," Mia finally said. "More likely than not, Aaron ordered the hit."

"I agree," Jason replied.

Mia nodded. "There's more," she said. "I know where he's headed."

Jason cocked his head, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Hirsch had a private account with the UBS AG," Mia explained, her voice barely above a whisper.

"What type of account?" Jason asked as he got out of bed. He walked passed Mia, to the dresser where he retrieved a clean set of clothes.

Mia let out a sigh. "He kept copies of Treadstone and Blackbriar documents in a safety deposit box," she explained as she watched Jason go into the bathroom. She listened as he took a quick shower and moved around as he got dressed.

In ten minutes flat, Jason emerged clean and fully dressed. "What type of documents?" he asked.

"Not the documents that you were able to get a hold of," Mia said. She stood up and walked over to Jason, standing in front of him with her arms crossed. "Everything about Treadstone and Blackbriar is in that box."

"Everything?" echoed Jason.

Mia nodded. "Everything."

Thirty minutes later, Jason and Mia were walking down the street towards a café that Mia had been to once or twice when she had been in Turin.

"What do you mean by everything?" asked Jason as he pushed the frames of his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Every mission, every operative, every name of personnel involved with the operation," Mia breathed. "If those documents fell into the hands of the CIA, there would be a lot more people in hot water other than Kramer, Vosen, and Hirsch."

Jason nodded as they turned a corner. "And Hirsch kept his copies in an off-shore account so it would be harder for the CIA to obtain a search warrant."

"There aren't multiple copies, Jason," said Mia as she stopped walking. "These are the only copies."

Jason raised his brow. "You think Phillips will try to get access into the box to destroy the evidence," he alleged.

Mia nodded. "If he has the proper identification, yes."

"What do you mean?"

"The account isn't under Hirsch's name. It's linked to a Morris Panov. The account is co-signed by an Evelyn Panova," Mia explained as they crossed the street. "Morris Panov's daughter."

"Why did he tell you this?"

"Honestly?" asked Mia as she stopped on a street corner. "I have no idea."

Together, they walked in silence until they reached the café, where both of the operatives ordered food. When they sat down, Jason moved closer to Mia and whispered, "Where is the account?"

"Zürich," Mia responded.

Jason leaned back in his seat and let out a disbelieving sigh. "Does Phillips have the identification needed to access the box?"

"Doubtful," Mia said. "It doesn't mean he won't…" Her voice trailed off as she stared as the entrance of the café.

Jason followed her gaze and saw a man standing in the doorway. Suddenly, he felt something and he wished he hadn't. That sense of being watched, the dread of being caught. Jason sat upright as his blood turned icy. The room became unnaturally silent as his senses kicked in.

Someone was there that shouldn't be.

To anyone else, he looked like a man looking for a bite to eat. But to Jason and Mia – they knew he was one of them.

The operative with the bleached blonde hair stalked into the café, his eyes trained on Jason and Mia as walked in. His face was expressionless, though Jason could almost see the thoughts running through the operative's mind.

They watched as Odin came up to their table and pulled out a chair. Without a word, Odin sat down across from Mia and Jason. He pulled out a toothpick and stuck it in his mouth. As he sucked on the toothpick, Odin studied Jason, and then turned his eyes to Mia, smirking.

"You're a hard man to find," Odin finally said with an Eastern European accent.

Jason stiffened. "That can happen when someone doesn't want to be found," he replied.

Odin raised a brow and turned his attention to Mia. He grabbed the toothpick out of his mouth and pointed it at her. "It seems you managed to find some company along the way," observed the operative. He leaned into Mia and touched her thigh. "Very beautiful company as it turns out."

Jason saw Mia recoil at Odin's touch and quickly realized that the operative thought that she was just a girl Jason had picked off the street. Playing into it, Jason grabbed Odin's wrist and jerked it off Mia's thigh. "Leave her out of it," he hissed.

"I wouldn't do that again if I were you," Odin warned as he grabbed Mia by the arm, pulling her towards him.

Mia looked furious. "You should take your own advice," Mia said quietly before her elbow slammed into Odin's stomach.

Jason watched the operative wheeze as Mia knocked his chair over into the next table. The patrons let out a surprised gasp. Quickly, Jason and Mia bolted out of the café as Odin pulled out his gun.

He fired three shots into the window, causing chaos to erupt inside the café.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason saw Mia spin around with her gun in hand and return fire. Grabbing her wrist, Jason took off in a run down the street.

As their feet pounded against the pavement, Jason took out his gun and readied the hammer. He heard more screams – probably Odin come out of the café, his gun trailing on them as they fled.

As they ran, Mia knocked over two women, sending one of their purses to the ground. As she stumbled, Jason pulled Mia onto a side street. She fell against the pavement, scraping the base of her hands. Jason heard her swearing under her breath as she regained her footing and continued to move.

They paused against a building, gathering their breath.

"Well, Odin is definitely not subtle," Mia said as they both scanned the area.

Jason nodded in agreement. "Definitely not," he replied.

Instinct kicked in as they both heard a bang. Both of them ducked to the ground as pieces of the building landed on them.

Jason looked up, seeing the asset coming towards them. With a millisecond, Jason's arm thrust out, gun in hand, and fired.

_Bang, bang, bang._

The asset ducked behind something, narrowly missing Jason's bullets. Jason stood up and continued to fire as he and Mia ran across the perimeter and disappeared around the corner into a crowd of people.

As they pushed their way through, Jason loaded his gun with shaking hands, adrenaline pushing through his system. When he looked up, Jason realized he had lost Mia somewhere in the crowd. Thinking quickly, Jason detoured down an empty street as he heard police sirens wailing in the distance.

Not again, he thought as he ducked the corner and ran down the street. Jason ducked down around street, his heart pounding against his chest. He paused on the corner, trying to steady his breathe when he heard a click.

Jason froze. Sweat rolling down the side of his face and under the collar of his sweater. He looked up, seeing the face of the Odin.

"Drop the gun," Odin demanded.

Jason complied, letting the gun slip from his fingers. In a sudden movement, Jason propelled his elbow upwards meeting the asset's stomach. He grabbed the asset's arm, knocking the gun from his hands and flipped him over his own shoulder. As Jason rose upright, he saw the flash of the asset's foot hitting his stomach. Jason stumbled, sucking in deep breaths, while trying to remain on his feet.

The asset rose with his arm flying out towards Jason's face. Jason blocked him, his other hand grabbing the other's man wrist, snapping it under the pressure of his fingers.

A metal object flashed in front of Jason's sight before disappearing above his head. Seeing the world turn a violent array of colors, Jason stumbled forward. Pain vibrated across his head, buckling Jason's knees as he fell to the ground.

Still stunned, Jason saw Odin rise to his feet and stumble backwards as he clutched his wrist. Jason shook his head and charged the asset, hitting him in the midsection with a yell. As they hit the cold ground, Jason's fist rose to collide with the man's face.

Under the force of his hand, Jason heard the sound of collapsing cartilage and bones. Odin screamed in pain before sending the metal object – another gun – into Jason's stomach.

Wheezing, Jason rolled off the asset. His face was burning as oxygen escaped his body. Jason looked up to see another blow heading his way and rolled out of harm's reach. As he laid flat on the ground, Odin gnashed his foot on Jason's hand, crunching the fragile bones.

Jason's cry was cut short by another kick to his stomach, followed by the asset's fist connecting with his mouth. As he gasped for breath, Jason heard the sound of gun fire. He looked up to see Odin jerk back as two bullets hit him in the chest.

Blood immediately began to ooze from the bullet wounds. Jason watched Odin look down at his chest, and then look at Jason, raising his gun with a shaking hand – ready to fire.

Jason was faster as he grabbed his gun and fired a bullet into Odin's forehead. He watched the asset crumple to the ground, his eyes open and staring into nothing.

Mia grabbed Jason by the bicep and pulled him. "Let's get out of here," she said.

The way back to the apartment was a blur. With their training, Jason and Mia managed to evade the police all the way back to the apartment.

As the front door slammed shut, Jason heard Mia say, "You're bleeding."

"I'm fine," he replied as he moved passed her to the bedroom. "We need to leave Turin before word gets out that we were here in the first place." Jason came into the bedroom and grabbed a duffle bag and began loading it up with clothing. "Any ideas on how we do that?"

"There's a car in the garage," Mia said as she began to help Jason. After a few minutes of frantic packing, Mia touched Jason's wrist. "Jason."

He stopped moving and looked at Mia. Her cheeks were still flushed with exertion and her dark hair had come loose from its braid. Jason watched her as she stepped towards him and kissed him gently on the lips.

She pulled away and whispered onto the skin of his neck, "Don't get soft on me now."

Jason chuckled, despite the situation, and whispered, "I would never."

Mia looked up. "Zürich?"

It wasn't a question.

Jason nodded. "Zürich," he replied.


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**  
_Zürich, Switzerland_

It had been like any other day for Framke De Vroom. She had gotten ready for work, styling her hair and doing her make-up to perfection, coordinating it with a stylish outfit. On her way to work, she had grabbed her morning coffee and scone and made the twenty minute walk between her apartment and the UBS AG. Once she settled into her office, her intern had told her that a young woman was waiting to speak with her.

"Does she have an appointment?" asked Framke before taking a sip of her coffee.

The intern shook his head. "No, Fraulein De Vroom," he stammered as his boss looked up at him with an annoyed expression. "But she said it was urgent."

"Everyone always says it's urgent," Framke said dismissively.

"She said it's concerning Morris Panov's account," replied the intern.

Framke looked up, curious. "What about it?"

"It seems," began the intern, "that Herr Panov passed away from a heart attack and that she wanted to settle his accounts."

Framke set her coffee down and leaned back into her chair. "And who is she?"

"His daughter," said the intern. He jumped back as his boss stood up and straightened her skirts. As Framke walked by him, the intern followed behind her.

"Why didn't you say so sooner?" Framke scolded as they entered the main corridor to the reception area. Standing by one of the antique china vases, Framke saw a young woman with blonde hair with bright pink tips studying the vase. Framke supposed she was too old to think that ripped tights, short skirts, and deconstructed tops were fashionable in comparison to her navy blue suit.

She watched as the young woman went to touch the vase. Framke cleared her throat, gathering the attention of the room's occupant.

The young woman turned her head, revealing a piercing through her left nostril and heavy eye make-up. She snapped the piece of gum that was in her mouth as she gave Framke a once over.

"Fraulein Panova," Framke said as politely as she could. "My condolence in regards to Herr Panov's passing. He was a good man and he will be missed."

"Did you meet him before?" asked the young woman in a skeptical tone laced with a Russian accent. To Framke's surprise, her English was passable.

Framke was taken aback by the young woman's abrasive tone. "I never got the chance to meet him, but I had heard good things about your father," she said as she extended her hand to the young woman. "I am Framke De Vroom, the head of customer relations and accounts with the bank."

The young woman stared at Framke's hand, then back at her.

Framke pulled back her hand with a smirk. "Well…" Framke cleared her throat and said, "I understand that you have your father's death certificate."

Evelyn snapped her gum and reached into her pocket, pulling out a rumpled piece of paper. She slapped it down on the coffee table and took a seat on the couch.

Framke opened the folder and inspected the death certificate it contained. "Johan," she said to the intern while snapping her fingers. Johan came up to her and took the folder from her extended hand. "Can you believe what she's wearing?" Framke asked in German, keeping her expression neutral.

Johan smirked.

"I like what I'm wearing, Fraulein De Vroom," Evelyn said in fluent German.

Framke flushed a bright pink as she glanced up at Evelyn. The young woman flashed a phony grin as she placed her boots on the coffee table. Framke watched the girl for a moment, noticing how she observed her surroundings. She seemed to take every detail in at once and it unnerved Framke.

"Johan, could you please find a private room for Fraulein Panova?" she said through gritted teeth. "And ask Ingrid to give you the account release paperwork."

The minutes ticked by as Framke stood in the room with Evelyn Panova. She began to pick at her cuticles, a nasty nervous habit that she tried to break for years, until Johan came back. Framke snatched the paperwork out of her intern's hands and brought it over to the couch where Evelyn sat.

"We just need to sign a few papers so I can allow you full access into the account," explained Framke. She looked at Udinov, who nodded. "I'm sure that you were aware of this."

Evelyn nodded. "Yes," she said as she took a pen from the folder. "Where do I sign?" she asked Framke.

Framke counted the minutes it took the brat to sign the paperwork. She watched as Evelyn Panova wrote her name over and over again in neat cursive.

When they were done with the paperwork, Framke led Evelyn out of the reception area. A few moments later, a security guard escorted her and Evelyn to the vault. She asked the young lady to punch in the account number and watch her do so with a steady finger.

A green light twinkled as the computer accepted the code.

Framke retrieved the safety deposit box and brought it to Evelyn, who took it from her. She escorted her back as Evelyn held the metal case to her chest.

"If you need anything else…" started Framke as she brought Evelyn to the room.

Evelyn opened the door and curtly said, "No" before slamming it shut.

Framke scoffed at the young woman and was glad to be rid of her.

* * *

As soon as the door shut, Mia turned her attention to the safety deposit box. She took out a cell phone with an earpiece, which she placed into her ear. She pressed send and waited for the caller to pick up.

"Do you have the documents?" asked Jason after he picked up on the first ring.

Mia opened the deposit box. "I'm opening the box now," she replied. In the center of the box were two vertical rows of CDs, each labeled Project Blackbriar or Project Treadstone. Underneath were various folders, something that Hirsch would have burned onto the CDs. Mia picked up one of the disks and studied it. "He made hard copies," she said.

"Leave the documents," ordered Jason. "We can come back for them later."

Mia placed the CDs inside her cross body bag, relieved.

"I'm on the next block…at a café," said Jason before ending the call.

Mia hung up the phone and placed it into the pocketbook. Taking a deep breath, Mia organized the papers and placed them back in the deposit box. She closed the box and stood there for a moment, with her hands resting on the black surface.

This was it.

Mia closed her bag and opened the door to the viewing room. The security guard looked at her, eyeing her legs, then her ass. She ignored him as she closed the door behind her and walked across the floor, her heels clicking against the tile.

As she rounded the main staircase, she felt someone's eyes on her. Out of the corner of her eye, Mia saw a security guard raise his radio to his lips. He wasn't looking at her directly, but the way he moved indicated something else.

With each step, Mia scanned the perimeter. Two security guards up on the balcony, the one security guard with the radio going to join them. A clerk trailing after her boss. A bank manager with a client. As she stepped down on the last row of stairs, Mia looked up to see Aaron Phillips standing directly across from her.

Mia felt her heart stop.

He was neatly dressed and shaking the hand of a man she presumed to be the bank manager. His expression seemed annoyed, as if he was trying to get to something that he couldn't.

Someone had told him about the box.

Phillips turned his head as he took a step down the stairs. He took a glimpse at Mia, at first not recognizing the girl with pink hair and punk clothing. Mia watched as his indifferent expression melted away to recognition. It was the look Phillips would get when he put the pieces of a situation together.

Mia pulled out her gun, aiming it at Phillips who had done the same. One of the bank patrons let out a scream as Phillips fired first.

Mia hopped over the railing of the stairs, landing on the floor below her. She ducked against the wall, hiding herself from Phillips's view.

Two security guards came towards her, their guns ready, and ordering her to put the gun down.

_Bang, bang._

Mia shot both of them with deadly accuracy. She took off running across the main floor, leaping over their bodies, with Phillips in hot pursuit.

He fired again, hitting a marble statue, his bullet not evening coming close to her.

Mia grabbed a staff member by the arm, pushing them behind her. She heard them stumble and fall into Phillips's path as she turned a corner behind the front desk. Racing down the hall, Mia dodged the bank's surprised staff, which was coming out to see what the commotion was about.

A security guard went to step in front of her, telling her that she wasn't allowed back there. Mia elbowed him in the throat as she ran passed him, ignoring his gasps of pain.

She rounded another corner and found herself fact to face with Framke De Vroom.

"Fraulein Panova," said the haughty woman in a tight voice. "You are not allowed back…"

Mia pointed her gun in the woman's face, watching the color drain from Framke's face. "Show me your office," she demanded.

Framke stuttered as she stared at the barrel of Mia's gun. Annoyed and running out of time, Mia waved it in her face. "I won't ask again," she said.

"It's this way," Framke stammered as she turned around, bumping into the wall. "This way."

Mia followed the head of customer relations and accounts to a door a few steps away. Framke opened the door and let out a yelp when Mia pushed her inside. "Lock the door," ordered Mia, her gun still on her.

Framke did as she was told with shaking hands. "I knew something was off about you," she hissed as she locked the door. "The way you act, the way you dress…" Framke turned her head and saw that the pink hair was gone and dropped ceremoniously on her desk. "What's going on?"

Mia shook out her hair, letting it fall to her shoulders. "Nothing you really want to know about," Mia said as she pulled off the fake nose piercing. She motioned the gun to the desk chair. "Sit down."

"Are you going to kill me?" asked Framke, her voice choking.

Mia let out an annoyed sigh. "If you don't listen," she snapped. "Sit. Now." Mia watched as Framke did as she was told. "Hands flat on the desk."

"Then what are you going to do?" asked Framke as she laid her hands flat.

Mia opened the bag and pulled out an article of clothing – a turtleneck sweater. She slipped off her leather jacket and dumped it in front of Framke. "Do you have an ear piece like the other staff?" she asked as she took off her top, replacing it with the turtleneck. "Or are you too good for that as well?"

Framke glared at her. "It's in the drawer," she mumbled, nodding her head towards one of the desk drawers.

"Good," Mia said. "Get it. One hand. Keep the other where I can see it." She watched Framke closely as the woman retrieved an ear piece, similar to the ones used by the security guards. "Turn it on and push it to the edge of the desk." Mia grabbed the ear piece and placed it in her ear as Framke put her hand back on the desk.

"Now what?" asked Framke.

Without a reply, Mia pistol whipped her. She watched as Framke collapsed unconsciously into a heap on the desk. Mia grabbed the wig and the top, a flimsy black thing with ripped straps, and shoved it into her bag while listening to the voices in the ear piece.

"The guy says that he's with the CIA," said one of the voices in German.

"Does he have the proper identification?"

"Yes. He says the girl is a terrorist…"

Mia snorted as she stepped towards the window behind Framke's desk, pulling on her jacket. That's a bit rich, Aaron, she thought as she glanced out the side of the window frame, seeing an alleyway below her.

"The police are at the front. More units are in route."

It was fifty feet above the ground. A drainage pipe from the roof was within reach from the window. It wasn't an ideal escape route, but it would have to do.

Without another thought, Mia unlatched the window and opened it, letting a cold blast of air wash over her face. Mia grabbed the bag and hooked it over her torso as she swung a leg out onto the small ledge outside the window.

Zipping up the jacket, Mia positioned herself out of the window, not bothering to close it as she snaked her way out to the drainage pipe. Mia grabbed the pipe, firmly, with one hand and propelled her body away from the window.

The ear piece fell out of her ear and onto the snow.

Quietly, Mia climbed down from Framke's office. As she made it to the last ten feet, Mia's footing slipped. As her feet gave out from under her, Mia felt her body lurch as it fell a few feet before she was able to grab the pipe again.

The bag slammed against her leg, the CDs clattering against the contact – the sound too loud for her liking. Mia clung to the pipe, waiting for someone to hear the commotion from the alley.

It never happened.

Mia dropped down to the asphalt. She paused on her haunches, listening to the sounds around her: the police sirens, the traffic, the sound of water dripping from a ledge. Mia stood up and turned on her heel, running towards the mouth of the alley.

She turned a corner towards one of the streets that hugged the building and poked her head out. Police cars sped passed without noticing her.

Mia turned to walk away from the bank when a hand grabbed her wrist. She let out a gasp before a hand clamped itself onto her mouth, pushing her back into the alley.

He looked like a typical tourist, wearing a sweater under his windbreaker and a pair of jeans. Under his baseball cap, Mia saw his eyes. Those blue eyes – forever evaluating all situations.

"It's just me," Jason said in a low voice as he removed his hand from Mia's mouth.

Mia glared at him. "You know," she hissed. "You need to stop sneaking up on people like that!"

"When you didn't show up, I got worried." Jason peaked out from the alley, and then glanced back at Mia, whose cheeks were still flushed from the exertion of evading security and Phillips. "Apparently, I had every reason to be. What happened?"

* * *

The first two days in Zürich were uneventful and mostly routine. Cronin and his team had set up shop in the Four Points hotel, occupying an entire wing. He had met with one of the heads of the Swiss Federal Council, who became aware of the CIA's presence in the city thanks to a phone call from the president.

It pained Tom as he shook the gentleman's hand. This was Landy's forte, not his.

It was she who always said the right things, she who would charm even the coolest of human beings.

It should have been her standing in front of the head of the council, not him.

The gentleman, whose name escaped Cronin, assured him that the operation would be kept quiet and that if they needed any further resources, it would be available to them.

The latter had come in handy faster than Cronin anticipated.

Cronin had just been sitting down with his morning coffee when there was a knock at his hotel room door. Cranky and in dire need of caffeine, Cronin reluctantly got up and went the door. On the second door, a little more frantic than the first, Cronin answered the door.

"What is it?" he asked upon seeing Kim and Hamilton standing in front of him.

Kim handed him a folded sheet of paper in silence. As Hamilton began to explain what happened.

"There was a shootout at the USB AG," Hamilton explained. "Phillips, himself, called it in, saying that he was there to retrieve some documents from his own account when he intercepted another operative."

Cronin pressed his lips together while his fingers unfolded the paper. "Was it Bourne?"

"No," Kim replied as Cronin scanned the contents of the paper, watching his eyes widen. "Campos."

Cronin blinked as the car came to a stop in front of the bank, which was surrounded by Swiss Police. Upon exiting the car, an officer came up to him, ready to tell him that he wasn't allowed to be there until Cronin flashed his badge.

"I need to the person in charge," Cronin said, briskly. He watched the officer run off, pushing through the crowd.

For a split second, Cronin came into eye contact with Phillips, whose picture he had seen from the man's file.

Phillips had a genuine look of surprise on his face when he saw Cronin. Masking it quickly, he leaned into his assistant, telling her something before leaving the scene.

Cronin hurried after him, pushing his way through the crowds of bystanders and police officers. By the time Cronin got to where Phillips had been standing, he had vanished into a town car and driving off into the dense Zürich traffic.

Swearing under his breath, Cronin turned around and saw Phillips's assistant. "You!" he bellowed over the crowded, ignoring the head officer who was coming over to him. "Stay right there."

The assistant froze, scared out of her wits as Cronin charged up to her. He grabbed her arm and flashed his badge in her face.

"You there!" said the head officer.

Cronin flashed his badge up. "I'm Tom Cronin with the CIA and this young lady has some answers that I'll need."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," objected Phillips's assistant, her voice cracking. She turned to the head officer. "Do something."

"I'm Lars Baumann, head of the special crimes task force," said the head officer. "What do you think she knows?"

Cronin reached into his pocket, taking out his cell phone. "Her boss has a warrant out for his arrest, issues by the Swiss Federal Council on behalf of the CIA. He is wanted for conspiracy, multiple counts of murder, and obstruction of justice to name a few," he answered, watching Phillips's assistant's face change to one of complete horror. "I want her to tell me where he is. The head of council's number is in this cell phone. You can call him if you want."

Baumann looked like he was contemplating if he should make the call. After a moment of silence, he took out his handcuffs, slapping one of them onto the wrist of Phillips's assistant. "Have your car follow me," he said.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Cronin followed Baumann lead the assistant towards a police car. He broke away and went to his awaiting car. As he opened the door, Cronin saw out of the corner of his eye a couple coming out of the alleyway and crossing the street.

The man looked at Cronin and nodded his head before him and the young woman he was with disappeared into a metro entrance.

It took a moment for Cronin to realize that it was Bourne.


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Jason walked down a crowded street by himself.

He had Mia had decided to split up inside of the metro station to avoid further detection. Jason had watched her board the train before his, her expression tight and robotic.

Jason hadn't had enough time to tell Mia that he had spotted Tom Cronin outside the bank. He had only seen the man for a moment, but he could see the lack of sleep etched all over Cronin's face and the sling that cradled his arm.

He had read that one of Landy's staff had been wounded, but the news never said who.

Truth be told, Jason was not entirely surprised that Landy's right hand man had put the pieces together and had come to Zürich.

Phillips and Cronin had more likely than not had seen each other at the bank, only moments before Jason and Cronin crossed paths.

Somehow, Phillips had found out about the safety deposit box. Jason wasn't sure who the man had in his pocket, feeding him information, but surely Phillips was a mission to make sure the contents of the disks were not given over to the CIA.

Jason came to the entrance of the Old Botanical Garden, where Mia had told him to rendezvous with her. As he stepped through the gate, Jason began searching the throng of people for Mia's face.

The gravel crunched under the weight of his body as the operative moved through the crowd. As he passed a palmhaus, he saw Mia under a tree.

She tapped her bag and began to walk down the path. Jason hurried his pace and soon found himself close enough to touch her.

Taking her by the waist, Jason led Mia behind the octagonal glass pavilion. "I saw Cronin," he said as soon as it was safe.

Mia looked surprised. "When?"

"As we were going into the metro station," Jason replied. He saw the look on her face, similar to her expression in Algeciras. "I would have said something, but it wasn't safe."

Mia nodded. "He's here because he found out about the box."

"Yes," Jason said as he scanned the area. "Let's keep walking," he added as he pulled her to him, snaking his arm around her shoulders. "You did well back there."

"Thanks," she said as they exited the western section of the gardens. They walked down the street, keeping an eye out for the police or anything out of the ordinary.

Out of the corner of Jason's eye, he saw a black sedan driving slowly on the opposite side, as if it was searching for something. Or someone.

Mia grabbed Jason, her nails dug into his skin. "That's him," whispered Mia.

He stopped walking and looked towards the same direction. Jason grabbed Mia's hand and began to run. Behind them, the sedan's wheels squealed as the driver spun the car around.

Sharply, Jason and Mia turned down another street, heading towards the subway system. A bullet flew overhead as they ducked down the stairs, their feet pounding with each step. Screams from the crowd above echoed through the subway.

As they ran for a train, Jason saw flashes of him running down Paz in Waterloo. The sweat rolling down his back and his heart pounding with each movement, trying to catch the asset. The look on Paz's face as he stared at through the Plexiglas.

The cold stare, taunting Jason as he stood helplessly on the platform.

Panic spread through the subway, Mia pulled Jason out of his trance and onto a train car as the door closed. He saw Phillips, his gun out and ready, coming down the stairs with two other agents. Jason dragged Mia to a seat, hiding their faces from view as the train pulled out of the station.

He blinked his eyes, his memory turning back to his foot chase with Desh in Tangiers. The heat beating down on both their backs as Jason tried to rescue Daniels. The sound of Nicky's cries as Jason choked Desh with a towel.

Overhead, a woman's voice announced in German the stop for Feldeggstrasse, jerking him back to the present.

The moment the doors opened, Mia and Jason ran off the train, narrowly avoiding station police. Swiftly, they ran up the stairs.

Silence overtook them as the assets ran through the streets. In the distance, the sound of a black sedan roared down the street as they neared the gates surrounding the building.

All Jason heard was the sound of his breathing, his heart pounding against his chest, and his feet hitting the pavement. His senses kicked in, hearing the shriek of wheels against the damp pavement. In front of them, another sedan spun to a stop, blocking their entrance to the embassy.

Doors flew open as two bodyguards got out of the car. Sunglasses over their eyes with guns in their hands.

Jason drew his gun and fired at the bodyguards, hitting one of them in the knee. The man collapsed in pain, clutching his wound as he sank to the ground.

Both assets ducked as a shower of bullets soared through the air, hitting a few store windows. As shards of glass fell to the ground, Jason fired back, hitting one of the wheels of the sedan. A loud bang echoed in the air as the tire collapsed, sending the standing bodyguard to duck for cover.

Grabbing Mia by the elbow, Jason pulled them to their feet and began to run. As they fled down the street, he saw the black sedan speed off over the sound of sirens.

Swiss police.

Jason let out a groan as they ran, trying to find a quick escape route. The embassy was out of the question, since it was surrounded by flashing lights from police cars. He felt Mia stopped in her tracks. Jason turned to her as Mia's arm lunged towards a car window, smashing the glass with her gun.

"Good thinking," said Jason as Mia unlocked the doors. He ran around the side and jumped into the driver's seat.

Jason hot-wired the car as Mia reloaded. The engine revved and Jason shifted into drive. He pressed his foot down against the gas and sped down the street as a police car drove by.

In the rearview mirror, Jason saw the car turn around and the lights beginning to flash. He turned to Mia, who handed him his gun. "We have company," he said as he followed the sedan.

"Let me worry about it," replied Mia as she inched towards the broken window. "Stay on Phillips."

As Jason turned roughly down a corner, Mia fired at the police car, trying to get it off the road. Jason switched gears and watched the speedometer as the car sped towards the sedan.

Overhead a traffic light changed to red. Jason glanced up and smirked, ignoring it as he flew through the intersection. He turned the wheel to avoid another car. The car screeched and fishtailed before regaining its footing on the road.

_Bang, bang, bang._

Mia's gun fired again before she leaned back in the passenger seat with another clip in her hand. Jason glanced at her as she unloaded the gun, swapping clips. He turned back to road and slammed his foot against the accelerator as he shifted the gears. Their car bumped the back of Phillip's sedan, sending the black car in a momentary loss of control.

The sedan nicked a row of parked cars and sent a bicyclist onto the street. The engine roared as it swerved back to the center of the street and sped a few yards ahead of them.

Behind them were three police cars, their sirens wailing and the lights bursting through the air. Jason turned the car down another street, ignoring the crash of a police car with another car coming down the opposite end of the street.

Another quick turn and the assets found themselves behind Phillips's sedan. The black car was heading towards the center of Zürich.

Weaving through traffic, Jason dodged the slower cars, clipping their doors. Sparking, the side mirror flew off the car and onto the roadway. Jason turned the car again and found himself ahead of the sedan. The sedan sped up, crashing into the back of the car.

Jason lost control of the vehicle, sending it into a divider. The car spun around, hitting the cement three times before Jason regained power. The car flew across the road and slammed into the side of the sedan, sending it towards another car.

He heard Mia let out a surprised yell as the sedan charged back. Under the crunch of metal and glass, Jason veered towards the sedan again as another car collided with the driver's side.

As the car rotated violently on the road, Jason kept his grip on the wheel as more glass flew into the car. For a moment, he blacked out as the car slammed against a wall. The engine sputtered and died and Jason heard Mia moaning. His body screamed with pain, a prologue to the various bruises and cuts he would later find on his skin. Jason opened his eyes to see smoke coming from the engine and a crowd of people stopping their cars.

Jason looked to Mia who was shaking her head. The side of her face was bloodied with cuts from glass and hitting her cheek against the frame of the car. She was okay, a little worse for wear, but okay. Jason forced the driver's door open and stepped out onto the street. As he helped Mia out of the car, Jason saw the black sedan turn a corner.

"Follow me," Jason whispered as he led Mia away from the wreckage. They limped towards the corner of the street, pain swallowing their bodies, and disappeared as the car exploded.

Mia turned her head towards the cloud of smoking looming over a few roof tops, her expression hardening. "I know where he's going," she said as Jason pulled her down a side street. He let go of her as he searched for an unlocked car. "He's going to the Blackbriar safe house."

"Which one?" asked Jason as he jiggled another door handle.

Mia followed him, her arms wrapped around her midsection. "It's near Rathausbrücke," she winced, watching Jason open a car door. She walked around the side, waiting for him to unlock the door for her. He leaned over the seat and opened the door, letting Mia into the car. As Mia sat down, Jason managed to get the engine started.

Slowly, they pulled out of the street and eased into the traffic. Mia looked out the window, seeing the car in flames. She swallowed.

She had been hoping that retrieving the box would be easy. Hope was fruitless and deep down; Mia knew that it would be a mess until the very end. She shifted in the seat, her body aching in protest, and took out her gun from her pocket. Mia turned to Jason, whose face was bloodied up from the crash. His lower lip was starting to swell and he had a gash above his eyebrow that would require stitches.

"Now what?" asked Mia.

Jason glanced at her, then the road. "I don't know."

As they drove towards Rathausbrücke, Mia leaned her head against the window, letting the cool surface ease the ache in her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a sedan in front of them.

Phillips's sedan.

"Jason!" shouted Mia, pointed towards the vehicle.

Jason was already on top of it. He floored the gas and sped through traffic. The car brutally crashed into the back of the sedan, sending it into the back of another car.

The sedan backed into the car, bumping Jason and Mia against the seats, before speeding off down the roadway. Jason switched gears and rapidly sped off after Phillips.

The cars flew down the roads of Zürich, inching closer to the safe house. As the sun began to rapidly set over the horizon, the two cars crossed over the Limmat River. Jason watched as the sedan made a sharp turn into a parking garage. He turned, his body slamming against the door of the car, into the garage, following Phillips up each level.

He heard a loud pop as gunfire came from the sedan. Jason swerved, hitting the passenger side against a wall. The engine sputtered and died as the car came to a stop. Jason kicked open the driver's side door and jumped out of the car, followed by Mia.

"There's only one way out," said Jason, his voice echoing off the walls of the garage.

Mia shook her head. "Phillips can get into the safe house from the top level," she replied as she took out her gun from her jacket.

"We'll need to split up," Jason said as he walked a few paces ahead of Mia. He turned to her and was surprised to see that Mia had vanished, leaving only a door to the stairwell slamming shut in her wake.

Jason took off running up the ramp, his feet hammering against the slick concrete. He needed to get to Phillips before he entered the safe house, an unknown situation to Jason. If it had been anything like the safe house in Paris, Phillips would surely have other bodyguards in the building, waiting for Jason and Mia to arrive.

As Jason neared the roof of the garage, he felt snowflakes falling onto his exposed skin and hair. To his right was a bodyguard. Jason tackled him, punching the man in the face, breaking his facial bones with each punch. Bloodied, the bodyguard fell onto the ground, his hand once clutching a gun now limp.

Grabbing the gun, Jason fired at two other bodyguards that were approaching him as he ran to duck behind a parked car. He heard shouting as his body slid on the snow-covered ground. From under the car, he fired again.

One of the bodyguards fell. Jason rose to his feet as the last bodyguard knocked him to the ground. Asphalt dug into Jason's already injured face, filling wounds with dirt and creating new cuts. Before Jason could recover, the bodyguard's fist plowed into his jaw, filling Jason's mouth with blood. Jason swallowed, feeling a good chunk of skin from the side of his mouth go down his throat. He let out a cry as another punch hit him in the stomach, winding him.

As Jason lay on his back, coughing and wheezing, the bodyguard rose his foot to stomp on his stomach with a maniacal grin on his face. To the bodyguard's surprise, Jason's hand shot up, grabbing his ankle and twisting his leg. Losing his balance, man fell on top of Jason.

Jason wrapped his arms around the bodyguard's neck, squeezing them against the man's throat. Jason felt the man clawing against his hands, finger nails digging into his skin, drawing blood. Jason grunted against the sharp pain and squeezed harder. He heard the bodyguard gag and choke before going limp.

Once satisfied that the man was dead, Jason pulled the bodyguard off of him and reached for the dead man's gun. Jason stumbled to his feet, gun in hand, and grunted. The snow had started to come down heavily, making it harder for Jason to see. He heard the crunch of snow under a shoe behind him.

Jason swung around, seeing nothing but the opening to the garage. He began to turn back, scanning the roof. He saw the sedan, the doors opened and foot prints in the snow. Jason walked across the roof, his gun ready to be fired, and peered into an opened car door. The lights on the dashboard were still on, glowing blue. Keys dangled from the ignition and Phillips was nowhere to be seen.

From the streets of Zürich, Jason heard the sounds of traffic, passersby unaware of the events unfolding above them. Jason backed away from the sedan, listening to the world around him. He heard another footstep far too late as his chest exploded in pain.

Without a sound, Jason sank to his knees.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Mia tossed the clip down the stairwell before stepping over the body of one of Phillips's agents. He had attempted to ambush her when she came down the streets, but Mia had heard the sound of his heavy breathing.

As she made her way through unfamiliar surroundings, Mia heard the sounds of a struggle on the lower floors. Flattening herself against the wall, Mia listened as someone yelled in English.

"Put your hands where I can see them!" bellowed a man's voice, followed by a gun shot and more struggling.

Mia turned her head as she heard footsteps below, as if more people were coming into the building. She placed her fingers on the trigger of the gun, ready to fire, as she began to move down towards the commotion.

With each step, she heard the sound of her heart pounding against her chest and the bag bouncing soundlessly against her side. Mia swallowed as she neared the lower story. Pressing herself against the wall, Mia reached for the door knob and quietly turned it.

The doors sprung open quietly and unnoticed by the occupants of the floor. Mia poked her head around the door frame to see CIA agents and Swiss police alike. On the floor was one dead agent from Phillips's team and five others lying flat on their bellies, their hands behind their heads.

Pacing around them was the man she suspected to be Tom Cronin. Mia studied him as he gave orders to his team before deferring to a member of the police.

A glimmer in the shadows caught Mia's eye. Bolting out into the room, startling its occupants, Mia pulled out her gun and fired two bullets across the room.

Everyone froze as one of Phillips's men staggered out into the light, clutching a wound on his neck that was bleeding profusely.

Mia fired again, this time hitting him in the center of his forehead. She lowered her gun as he fell to the ground, dead, and stared at him. Mia heard the rustle of movement and sprung back into action. She swung around, her gun raised and ready to fire.

Cronin held up his hand, signaling his team and the police to stop moving. "Stand down," he said over his shoulder. He turned back to Mia and studied her, surprised at seeing her in person no doubt. Cronin took a step forward, causing Mia instinctively to lunge forward a step with her gun ready. "Hey," he said, gently. "Hey, I won't hurt you. No one in this room is going to hurt you."

Mia cocked her head, not quite comprehending him.

"Do you understand, Caroline?" he asked, stepping closer.

Caroline. Mia let out a surprised gasp, feeling her body go numb. She closed her eyes, seeing memories of her parents, her friends at Georgetown, and herself, walking across a praça in Lisbon – heading unknowingly into the arms of Operation Blackbriar.

She felt Cronin stepping closer to her, within reach of her gun. Suddenly, Mia jerked the weapon up and pointed at his face, cocking the hammer and readily the trigger. "Don't move any closer," she demanded, her voice shaking.

Mia watched as Cronin took a step backward.

"Caroline," he said. Cronin saw the pain etched in Mia's eyes, remembering. For a brief moment, he could see the girl she used to be before it disappeared, replaced by the cold and familiar expression of an asset. "My name is Tom Cronin."

"I know who you are," she curtly replied as she scanned the room, looking to see if anyone was going to be heroic and try to ambush her. "He told me about you."

Cronin nodded. "Jason?"

"You already know the answer to that," Mia retorted. She looked around the room, seeing the mixture of agencies. "Like you already know that I already accessed the box before Phillips had a chance to."

Cronin nodded again. "Yes," he answered. "Caroline…"

"Don't call me that," Mia said roughly, her voice shaking. "She's dead. Ward, Albert…even Aaron…they killed her, just like they with countless others."

Cronin inhaled deeply. "I know," he said, watching Mia's eyes fill with tears. "And I am sorry." A lone tear fell down her cheek.

Without a word, Mia lowered the gun. With her free hand, she took off the bag containing the disks from her torso and thrust it out towards Cronin. "The disks are in here," she whispered. "There was further documentation in the box, but it was paperwork. Most likely Hirsch's notes about certain operatives."

Cronin took the bag from Mia's grasp and passed it off to Hamilton. "Get back to the hotel and make copies of these," Cronin ordered. "Make sure you upload onto the secure ftp. The president will want to see this immediately."

He turned back to Mia, who stood numbly and alone in the room. A thought dawned on him, something he hadn't thought of before.

"Where's Jason?" he asked.

Before Mia would reply, they heard the sound of gunfire coming from the roof.

* * *

The sounds of traffic brought him back from the brink. A trio of cars honked their horns, snapping him to his senses. He swallowed as he swayed on his knees, fighting to keep the darkness that teetered on the edges of his vision at bay.

A man snickered.

Jason blinked, staring uncomprehendingly at his assailant, trying to remember what happened.

There was pain – a dull, ache that slowly surged and built up. A groan escaped his lips, and suddenly, there was pain everywhere, overwhelmed his body and stealing his breath. Fire burned in his chest, and his arms fell limply to his sides. Pressure rose in his chest, so harsh that he thought his chest would implode. Jason wanted to cry out, but his breath was torn straight from his mouth, leaving him heaving for air.

In the midst of everything, there was a bitter, numbing feeling that flooded his body. Jason closed his eyes, seeing red spots dancing in the darkness. Slowly, he brought a hand up to his chest and touched the source of pain.

The steady flow of blood oozing through his fingers and soaking the material of his shirt told Jason all he needed to know.

Looking up, he saw a figure standing over him, jacket flapping in the breeze.

"Jason Bourne," said Aaron Phillips. "It's a pleasure."

The blood drained from his face, leaving his skin feeling cold. Sweat formed at his temples as his heart pounded against his chest. Jason let out a moan as he stumbled towards his gun. His body crumbled under his command and he collapsed onto his side.

In his haze of pain, Jason saw Phillips kicking away his gun. Jason winced as he heard the metal clatter against the pavement as it bounced out of reach.

"Don't even think about it," hissed Phillips. He eyed Jason and smiled. "So this is how it ends, I guess."

Jason could feel the man's stare on him, watching him and waiting for Jason to do reaction. Weakly, Jason looked up, catching the murderous glint in Phillips's eyes before he bowed his head. Another moan fell from his mouth, followed by a sharp intake of breath as the pain intensified.

Jason unconsciously grasped at the snow that had begun to fall, feeling the cold radiating against his skin. He closed his eyes, feeling his chin trembling.

_He saw Marie's face, looking as she had when Jason first met her. They were sitting in her car by his apartment in Paris. Jason had been hesitant to go up alone when her voice broke the uncomfortable silence._

"Don't forget about me," she had said with a smile on her face. The smile that made his world turn upside down and gave him hope that everything would turn out okay.

He opened his eyes, feeling the sting of tears only moments before they fell. Jason turned his head to look at Phillips.

"You know, I never thought this day would come," Phillips professed. "When it would be over and I could walk away from this mess. But you – you and her made it so difficult for me. For everyone."

Jason only whimpered in pain.

"What?" asked Phillips, mockingly. "No apology?" He looked over the fallen asset and shrugged. "Even if you did apologize, you wouldn't really be sorry, would you? You and that little bitch." He squatted down to his haunches and poked Jason with the end of his gun. "I never thought it was a good idea to have a female asset, but I was too low on the totem pole to have a real say. Like you, Mr. Bourne, Mia is a thirty million dollar liability and even if I have to do it myself, I will make sure she's stopped."

Jason watched Phillips rise to his feet, his shoes crunching on the snow. This was it – the end. Jason was sure of it as another moan escape through his lips. As he lowered his eyelids, Jason saw Phillips beaming with satisfaction. His body jerked when he heard the sound of Phillips's gun being readied to shoot.

_Dear god, not this way_, Jason thought desperately. _Don't let me die this way._

Jason heard the clap of the bullet exiting the gun. It echoed into the night, over the traffic of Zürich. For a moment, he lay on the ground with his eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the bullet end his life.

The bullet never hit him.

Weakly, Jason opened his eyes to see Phillips crumble next to him, his gun still in his hand. He stared at Phillips's face, where he saw a pool of blood form from a wound in the back of his head. In the distance, Jason saw the silhouette of a woman standing about twenty feet away.

"Jason!" he heard Mia exclaim as she ran towards him in the snow. Footsteps followed behind her, running frantically towards him.

Jason moved his head, staring up into the sky as the snow fell. He could feel the blood draining from his body and his heart struggling to keep beating.

_He remembered the look on her face when he first kissed Mia. The way her eyes lit up and her cheeks flushed. The sound of her breathing quickening with desire. The first time he saw her naked, her pale skin illuminated by the light in the room. Her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders and the mischievous look in her eyes as she unhooked her bra. The twinkle in her eyes upon seeing her for the first time. The way her fingers curved around the glass in her hands, the way she crooked her finger at him. The sound of her voice, the seductive tone that made him shiver._

The snow fall had picked up, almost blinding Jason as he lay on the ground. As his vision receded, Jason saw blurred figures running towards him.

The night sky turned white, the darkness rapidly disappearing under the heavy snow fall, until it was all that Jason saw. The razor sharp pain in his chest vanished, leaving behind a comfortable warmth through his body.

He closed his eyes, leaving behind the chaos around him.

_Look at us. Look at what they make you give. _


	24. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The water tower with the word NIXA, painted in red, had taken him by surprise. He had been so desperate to escape and follow the coordinates on the postcard, that Jason had barely paid attention to where he was headed.

Against all the odds, he hoped that she would be there, waiting for him. Jason took his hand off the steering wheel of the Civic he had stolen to rub away the dull pain vibrating in his chest. With delicate fingers, he touched the spot under his t-shirt where Phillips's bullet had been removed in a long and complicated surgery.

By some miracle (or luck, as the doctor in Washington, DC had called it), the bullet had missed his heart. The blood loss was extensive, more so than Jason's previous scrape in New York City, and this time, he had actually been clinically dead for three minutes.

The doctor had been evasive about the details, but he had flat lined in the back of an ambulance that was en route to a hospital in Zürich.

Somewhere in the chaos, Mia had disappeared, vanishing into thin air as if she never existed. Perhaps she thought he was dead and that she didn't want to face Cronin and the CIA on her own.

He knew better. She was doing what they were trained to do…keep running.

Jason remembered Cronin explaining to him in a stoic fashion that the last time he had seen the female asset was after the surgeon in Zürich had come out of the operating theatre. The surgeon had told them that Jason had made it through surgery, but was in critical condition. He had lapsed into a coma and the doctor had not been very optimistic of his recovery.

Cronin said that Mia had taken the news in silence before rising to excuse herself with a nod of her head.

As he finished, Cronin had waited for Jason's response and the asset feel Cronin's concern radiate from him. As Jason stared out the window of his room, watching the snow fall, he knew what Cronin was thinking.

_Will you run, too?_

He hadn't run. Instead, he let the CIA force him into seclusion at the hospital they had flown him to once Jason had stabilized. He vaguely remembered IV lines dangling in his vision and a nurse peering over him as she checked his vitals. At the time, he had thought it was Mia and he fell back asleep, happy that she was there.

Jason wouldn't admit to anyone, including the obnoxious "specialist" that had been brought in to evaluate his psychological help, that he was heart sick that Mia was gone. He wasn't the type to cry himself to sleep, but he had spent many nights curled up in his hospital, staring into the darkness and wondering where she was.

And she missed him as well.

The sound of the tires crunching on gravel brought Jason back out of his reverie. The shocking realization of where he was had worn off and he was back on autopilot. In truth, he was too exhausted to be shocked for long, having driven the entire sixteen hours without sleep or stopping to eat. His body had barely healed from his latest ordeal and he knew that his doctors weren't going to be pleased.

He glanced at the postcard placed on the dashboard, seeing a set of coordinates in familiar scrawl. Jason knew that it was from Mia as soon as he had found it on his bed when he came back from another nondescript meeting with another nameless CIA member (in truth, they hadn't been nameless…Jason hadn't cared to remember their names).

Using the GPS in the stolen vehicle and his training as an asset, Jason evaded the CIA and headed west.

The GSP told him that he was close to his destination and Jason felt his heart skip a beat. He gripped the steering wheel and swallowed, trying to keep his nerves at bay.

He found himself driving into a cemetery, the kind that was typical of a small Mid-Western town. Jason pulled the car over next to a tree and turned off the engine. He leaned back into the seat, his limbs shaking from fatigue, and sat there for a moment before exiting the Civic.

As he stretched his legs on solid ground, Jason saw a dark figure standing alone in the distance. Jason walked towards the figure, stumbling his way through rows of grave plots and headstones. As he neared the figure, he felt a sinking sensation as he realized it wasn't Mia, but Cronin.

How the man had known where Jason was heading was a mystery, but not exactly surprising to Jason. He waited for a sharp reprimand or a swarm of agents knocking him to the ground as he came up to Cronin.

Cronin stood in front of two headstones, his jacket flapping in the late winter breeze. Several yards away from the two men were three CIA-issued sedans. So Cronin didn't bring the heavy artillery…it didn't mean that Jason should stop worrying, but it also meant another.

Cronin knew that Jason was too tired to keep running.

"I'll give you a moment," said Cronin in a grave tone. He laid a hand on Jason's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze before walking towards a dark sedan parked several feet away.

At first, Jason didn't understand what Cronin had meant until his turned towards the headstones.

_Your parents, Rebecca and James, were killed in a car accident when you were seventeen._

As Jason dropped to his knees in front of the headstones, he closed his eyes, remembering Landy telling him about his parents. She had been sitting by his bedside at her makeshift desk, fussing over paperwork while trying to figure him out.

_I had a feeling that they would be dead._ Those words, said without emotion, were what he had told Landy.

Jason opened his eyes to see the names of his parents, people whose faces and voices he couldn't remember etched into stone. He felt a lone tear fall down his cheek and disappear under his jaw.

Why had Mia brought him here, he wondered to himself as he stared at the graves. On the tops of both of them were black pebbles, recently placed there by the looks of it.

Jason reached for one of them and looked at the object in his hand, feeling it's smooth surface against the skin of his palm, knowing that it had been Mia who had placed them there.

With a unsteady hand, Jason put the pebble back in its place and held himself up using the headstone as silent tears began to fall.

Jason couldn't remember how long Cronin had let him stay there, keeping a safe distance from the asset, but he remembered hearing the sound of Cronin's shoes on the grass of the cemetery, returning to collect his asset.

His body aching and crying out for sleep, Jason stood up and wordlessly followed Cronin to the sedan.

As the sedan pulled out to the main road, Jason settled into the backseat and stared out the window. The landscape should have been familiar to him, as he grew up in the small town.

Silence filled the vehicle as the motorcade rode farm land and other vehicles. Jason heard Cronin shift uneasily in the front seat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cronin turning his head to observe Jason, watching the asset as Landy did.

Was he wondering if Jason would snap? He couldn't tell as Cronin was harder to read than Landy.

As the car made a turn towards the main road leading out of Nixa, a tree in the middle of a field caught Jason's attention. It was an oak and had no business being in there. In the distance was a barn painted in red that was fading from age and weather.

He remembered seeing this exact field in a dream, golden fields against a bright blue sky. Jason shivered.

"Are you alright back there, Jason?" he heard Cronin ask.

Would he be alright? He couldn't really say. If his memory came back, it wouldn't be whole – there would still be voids that were gone. The doctors wouldn't dare tell him, but he knew. Whatever he knew of his previous life, was gone – lost somewhere in the Mediterranean.

"Jason?" Cronin said.

He rested his head against the window and closed his eyes, feeling the cool surface of the glass pressing against his skin. Maybe this was Mia's indirect way of telling him to keep trying to remember who he was while accepting who he had become.

The agent driving the sedan said inaudible to Cronin, probably asking if he should pull over the vehicle.

"My name is David," he whispered, so softly that he could barely hear his own reply. "My name is David Webb," he repeated, his voice louder.

He heard Cronin settle back into his seat before replying, "Hello David."

**FIN**


End file.
